


Dreamwork

by fluffymusketeer



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Universe, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Memory Alteration, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:16:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffymusketeer/pseuds/fluffymusketeer
Summary: After the final battle, Eren awakens in a dark and silent forest. He finds his shifter ability gone, his life stretching out before him, and an altered world in which he is the only one who remembers. Manga spoilers.*On temporary hiatus, see author's notes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I strongly suspect that the whole Ymir Fritz story is just that: a story. But I’ve decided to roll with the mysticism angle anyway. In terms of spoilers, you can consider the plot of this story canon-divergent after Chapter 90, however inspiration for locations and settings have been taken from the Marley arc. I hope you enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Thank you to [thisgirlsays22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisgirlsays22/) who is a fabulous beta reader, cheerleader, and all around excellent person. Not to mention she talked me into being brave enough to start a WIP.
> 
>  
> 
> **ON TEMPORARY HIATUS**
> 
> Hi guys!
> 
> I have decided to put Dreamwork on a temporary hiatus. My apologies for this, I know there are those of you who are enjoying this story very much. Please be assured I *do* intend to finish Dreamwork, and this hiatus is more of a creative necessity than anything else. WIPs are not exactly my forte, and the continual self-pressure to write and update is stifling my enjoyment of this fanfic.
> 
> In order to not fall out of love with it completely, I've decided to put it on hiatus so I can work on it without my anxious brain ruining the experience. This will give me the freedom to edit, change, delete, and add to my heart's desire across the rest of the fic, a freedom I am beginning to realise is essential for me creatively.
> 
> In terms of how long I expect the hiatus to last - at least until the end of the year. But please be assured I will still be writing! And hopefully publishing things occasionally too. I have short stories and drabbles I've been chipping away at that I'd like to share when they're ready, and I'll also be around on tumblr (fluffymusketeer.tumblr.com) enjoying S3.
> 
> Thanks for your understanding!
> 
> Danni

Eren wakes to the dark of a new moon.

The forest overhead is smothered with ink-black shadows, and his eyelashes are damp with tears. They trickle down his cheekbones as he stares at the night sky. All is silent, all is still.

Does this mean...?

_This burden will ever be yours to carry, Eren._

Has it worked?

_I am sorry, that this falls to you. More than you can know._

Is it… is it over?

All is silent, all is still. Far above the heavens keep a star-scattered vigil, wisps of ethereal white in the shape of wings that seem to watch him. They watch him, and remember. A final battle, fields soaked in blood, innocent bodies shattered, a cry of raw pain… his cry. Broken, sobbing.

For the first time in an eternity, Eren sucks in a shuddering breath. His lungs fill. Pain blooms.

_Be strong, Eren._

He screams.

 

Another eternity passes before the pain subsides. He does not know if it is in his body or in his heart, but it fades. Fades enough for him to twist his head from side to side, awareness growing of the cold moisture seeping into his clothes from the grass he lies on, of his body wracked with tremors, of the ear-splitting silence. It’s deafening.

His breaths form clouds of misty vapour in the cold night air. He takes the air in deep, trying to ignore the burn in his lungs. He tests his limbs, stretching them one by one.

Eren feels so damn _tired_.

And yet he’s been sleeping for so long. An eternity. Hasn’t he? It’s hazy, now.

_Be strong, Eren._

The voice is female, a will o’ the wisp in the fog of his memories, but it rings crystal clear. Older, soothing, beautiful. Be strong, Eren, it tells him.

Right… right. It’s an instruction, an order. He knows how to follow orders. He learned, over the years, right? Not very easily, but he learned.

So he gingerly picks himself up off the forest floor, until he’s sitting in the midst of the clearing, and then standing, and finally walking. Still his breaths puff out visibly white, and he wraps his arms around himself. He’s cold. When was the last time he felt cold? He can’t remember. Years ago, maybe even childhood.

Eren comes to a halt between two giant trees. Childhood. Suddenly he’s peering at the palm of his hand, barely visible in the darkness. Something had happened to him, recently… not an eternity ago. He scrunches his eyes shut, tries to block out the silence and hear the sounds that cascade through his darker mind. It’s there, just beyond his grasp.

_“Armin!”_

_“EREN!”_

_The world explodes into forks of white lightning and deafening thunder. A forest appears, a forest of hazy light…_ it vanishes.

“Damn it,” Eren mutters. His mind is drowning, and he doesn’t know why, and it _hurts_. He is surprised, however, that his voice works. He didn’t expect it.

So he stumbles on, feeling his way through the night time forest with tripping feet and muttered curses, hands clenching into fists over and over, as if they provide an answer to a question he doesn’t know.

 

He realises he wants to find Hange.

Hange will know what is happening to him.

But something is stopping him, some kind of mental warning which takes a grip on his heart and makes it pound. This isn’t something he can talk to people about, not even Hange. He doesn’t know _why_ exactly, he just knows it isn’t. Hange, with their theories and their insights, with their wild hair and their wilder eyes, is lost to him.

_This burden will ever be yours to carry, Eren. I am sorry, that this falls to you. More than you can know._

That voice again. Feminine and lovely. A stray thought; it reminds him of his mother’s voice. The voice is why. It is the reason. Whatever he is going through, he must deal with it alone.

Gradually, as the trees begin to thin and he thinks maybe the world isn’t so silent anymore, that maybe he can hear sea waves breaking, he realises that all this was very likely his choice. To be alone, to shoulder whatever it is he must shoulder.

It seems like something he would do, after all.

 

Eren sits on the beach beyond the forest for a long time. Legs crossed like he is a child again, long brown hair ruffling in the sea breeze, gaze cast out over the dark ocean. Starlight catches in glimmers on the cresting waves as the tide creeps inexorably in. He breathes and he breathes. Beautiful, it’s so beautiful.

He’s becoming more aware of his body. He’s hungry, and his muscles are worn and weak. He thinks he must have used a great deal of power recently. But the ocean soothes him, in a way that it has never done before. Once it was merely a childhood dream that grew into something pure when the rest of the world was tainted and broken. Then it became a challenge, a new kind of wall, no less looming and impenetrable than the walls of Shiganshina had been so long ago. Then they crossed it on monsters propelled by steel and steam, and it was just the ocean.

Now though… now it is beautiful, because the world is beautiful, and Eren can’t really fathom why he thinks that. Memories are slotting into place now. So much horror. Blond hair bursting into blood and bone, two steely grey eyes blank and unseeing, a girl with brown hair holding the remains of a boy.

Tears are running down Eren’s cheeks again, but he finds he doesn’t mind.

There had been a battle. A final battle, a last push into Marleyan territory, meticulously planned for _years_ , but when their strongest fell – unexpectedly, shockingly – things had started to crumble, slowly at first, then faster and faster like a landslide gathering momentum. _Levi_ , he thinks. He’s beginning to remember names. Captain Levi had fallen to the waiting beast titan, a life such as his _snuffed out in a second_ when no one had believed such a thing possible. Then Mikasa had disappeared into the fray with a raw cry of outrage, and Eren’s heart was broken into a million pieces. Sasha loses Connie. Jean vanishes beneath a giant stampeding foot. Hange falls from the sky like a wing-torn angel. Citizens running. Citizens screaming. Eren remembers, the vivid images coming thick and fast now.

He sees the memories through a cloud, and he realises he was in his titan form for the battle. That’s why his memories are taking so long to sort themselves out.

And then Armin, screaming for him, and he is screaming for Armin too. He watches that fleshy jaw snap shut on the head of his oldest and dearest friend, torn from the colossal nape of his titan like a limp ragdoll, and something inside Eren _breaks_.

Bright light, and the world vanishes.

Eren blinks at the ocean.

All is silent, all is still… and then it isn’t.

“I thought I would find you here, Eren.”

He glances at the woman beside him. _Be strong, Eren_ , she had told him once, when she was younger, much younger than she is now. Two voices fuse together in his mind, a girl full of questions, a woman kind and sure. Her hair is long, the shade of ash, her dress is white and nearly see-through. She has grown luminous in her beauty. “How long have you been sitting there?” he asks.

“A long time, I think.”

“Yes,” he says.

They sit for a while in companionable silence. Eren lets his returning memories wash over him in time with the lapping of the tide. He had lost them all, then, in the end.

After a while, he asks, “Why are we here?”

She picks at her gown. “You don’t know?”

“Not really.”

She sighs and leans back to lie upon the sand, resting her hands upon her belly. Eren’s eyes scan her body through the sheer material, and after a moment, he lies down as well. The sand is soft and comfortable. It’s nice like this, staring up at the stars. It reminds him of Levi. But that had been a long time ago, and far away.

“The real world is re-making itself,” she whispers. “Except for you and me.”

“This isn’t the real world?”

“No. This is my forest and your ocean. I think they will fade soon, and we will have to say goodbye. Perhaps forever. I’m not sure.”

Eren rolls over in the sand, propping himself up on an elbow. He reaches over and takes her hand. It’s warm, and she squeezes his fingers lightly.

“Your name is Ymir. Ymir… Fritz?”

She looks over at him. Her eyes reflect the stars. Tears obscure their true colour. “You remembered. I was worried my name would be lost to the ages.”

“Why?”

Ymir’s lips curl into a not-quite-smile. “Because long ago you came to me and you asked me to make a different choice,” she replies. “And I did.”

 

“These are the Paths,” he eventually murmurs, figuring it out. “We’re connected through the power of the co-ordinate. The… the founding titan? I finally figured out how to use it. And I came to you, when you were a little girl. I came to you from my time, and I asked you not to seek out the power of the titans. Right?”

“You did.”

“But—” and he stares at his hand clasped in hers, realising why he has been feeling so strange “—but I’m not a titan anymore.”

“No. The titans are gone. The curse is gone. It’s over. They never existed in the first place, really.”

“Then how are we…?”

She shrugs delicately, her shoulder blades making a soft _swoosh_ in the sand. “Because we are the ones who must carry this burden. The knowledge is ours to hold and to bear. We are the beginning and the end. There are thousands of years between us, Eren. I suppose it takes time for reality to stitch itself back together again. Or maybe not. I don’t really know.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not a goddess.”

“I know.” He squeezes her hand again. “I’m sorry I scared you, when you were little. Appearing out of nowhere like that. You thought you were doing the right thing.”

“It’s alright. I’m sorry my past destroyed your future. I just hope we made a difference.”

Eren sighs. “Me too.”

 

They are fading, now. Eren is growing hungrier, his body more real, his memories more ordered, the forest and the ocean mistier. The stars are obscured by clouds, and Ymir is naked, her gown having blown away. He peers down at his own body, surprised to find himself naked too. He feels his cheeks heat up, but Ymir seems unconcerned.

She too has taken an elbow, and is squinting back at the forest as if she can capture the vanishing image just by staring hard enough. “I hope your world is better,” she says.

“I hope yours is too.”

“It isn’t.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. At least I know it _will_ get better. At least I get to live a long life.”

She lets his hand go, and they both sit up. A thick fog is rolling in now, and it’s only them. The power of the titans is fading from the world. Eren can feel it. It really is over. This last remnant – the one that connects them across the vastness of space and time - is slowly breaking down. He doesn’t have much longer, and he doesn’t know the right words.

“I’m sorry that this falls to you, my Eren,” Ymir says, her voice quiet, distant. “I’m sorry that you have to lose them all. I’m sorry that you have to lose _him._ ”

Eren blinks.

“I saw. When you showed me the future I had created with my childish wish to save the world. I saw what he meant to you.” She sighs. “You will be strong, won’t you?”

Suddenly, he’s desperate. He doesn’t want to be alone. “Will I ever see you again?” He tries to catch her hand once more, but it’s only mist.

She doesn’t answer. She no longer hears him, and he no longer hears her.

Her sad smile is the last thing he sees before the Paths collapse and the world of the titans is gone forever.

 

Eren wakes to the dark of a new moon. A thousand lights and sounds invade his senses all at once; fog-shrouded lanterns, creaking carriage wheels, braying horses, candles in windows, revelling drunkards, the tolling of tower bells.

He’s in a city, and its spires soar into the midnight skies.


	2. Chapter 2

 

_One Year Later_

 

This new world is not peaceful.

Eren knows he should not have expected differently, but he is a little disappointed. They’d all sacrificed so much for the hope of a better future. And here it is, a world without titans.

Yet cannons, airships, cavalry charges, rifles, armies, all these things still exist. Eren half expects to see soldiers zipping through the streets with manoeuvre gear, though he never does. But the machinery of war? It is more numerous than Eren could ever have imagined in the world before.

It had unnerved him at first. Whole countries and continents stretching across the horizons and beyond the oceans. Steam-powered ships ferrying people and cargo from port to port. Great railways cutting through forests and mountain ranges. Iron bridges spanning the widest rivers, markets overflowing with exotic sweets and spices from the empire. Walls existing only to protect humans from other humans. It was overwhelming.

It was also beautiful beyond imagining.

He had awoken in Marley. In the exact same spot from which he had watched Armin crushed between the jaws of a titan, wearing the same clothes even, though they were no longer spattered with gore.

Those first few weeks he had wandered and struggled. He was a shadow of a forgotten world, a forgotten man. He’d learned to pickpocket and _re-_ learned to bandage his own wounds. He’d thought briefly about joining Marley’s standing army, or perhaps its navy. The military was all he knew. But he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_.

He’d probably be dead by now, or at least rotting in a prison somewhere, were it not for Farlan Church.

They’d met when Eren had tried to steal his pocket watch. Farlan had clipped him round the earhole for his behaviour, glanced knowingly up and down his malnourished body, then promptly offered him his first hot meal in weeks. Later, sipping tea in front of the warmth of a kitchen hearth, Farlan had mentioned that he was a blacksmith and had been considering taking on an apprentice for some time.

Eren knew it had been offered out of pity, but he had said yes anyway.

So here he is a year later, a twenty year old apprentice blacksmith in the city of Liberio, the city of his father’s childhood – alive and human and relatively healthy – making bars and chains for its prisons, cast iron saucepans for the cooks of its wealthy households, rifles and bayonets for its armies. Whatever comes their way, really. _Church’s Workshop_ is not particularly discriminating.

He finishes his tea break, closes his journal, and allows himself a rueful smile. If he had been asked a year ago, this was not a future he would have envisioned for himself. He’d stopped envisioning the future at all, by then.

But this _is_ the future, one unexpectedly regained. He fastens the string on his leather bound journal. He cannot forget the past or the people in it, this is his burden to bear, but he tries every day not to let it ruin his present.

“Eren!” he hears from the workshop. “You done yet? Customer needs seeing to.”

 

Farlan Church is a very _decent_ man. About Eren’s height, perhaps a little shorter, lean and handsome. His scruffy blond hair smells of iron filings _at all times_ and he seems intent on making his little corner of Marley a better place. Eren touches Farlan’s back briefly as he passes by the heat of the forge, where the older man is sweating and concentrating.

“Yep?” Eren asks the portly man hovering in the doorway. He’s holding a weathered looking horseshoe in his hand, and Eren’s already reaching for his hammer and tongs.

“Can you shoe a horse?”

“Sure.” Eren waves the man over and takes the horseshoe. It’s in terrible condition, and he can’t help but frown. They took much better care of their horses in the Survey Corps. “Left this a bit late, haven't you?" Eren remarks. "Alright, come to the courtyard.”

As the man goes to fetch his horse, grumbling about shoddy service, Eren sidles up to the forge and nudges Farlan aside with his hip. Farlan swipes his forearm over his face, wiping away the droplets of sweat and smudging himself with residue. “You’re terrible for business,” Farlan says.

Eren shrugs as he gets to work heating the metal for a new horseshoe. “Have you seen this horseshoe? Look at it, Farlan. We should stop doing business with idiots like this.”

“Ha.”

“I’m being _serious_.”

“I can tell.” Farlan nudges him back and bends over the forge to pick up his tongues and the ceremonial blade he’s been working on. No doubt the blade is for yet another wealthy Marleyan who will never need to use it.

The clatter of _several_ horses into the courtyard has Eren looking up. Portly customer, two horses, and a small carriage rumble in, clicking against the cobblestones. Probably couldn’t be bothered to unhitch the horses. Eren sighs and begins shaping the new horseshoe. It’s work, he reminds himself. It puts food on the table.

When he takes the finished horseshoe out to the courtyard, his leather pouch of shoeing tools in hand, the man is talking with the person inside the carriage. They both look over while he gets out the hoof knife and rasp. “Which horse?”

“That one.”

He listens to their conversation as he gets to work. It’s a pleasant day, noon sun high and warm against his back. The workshops making shared use of this courtyard are all busy with chatter and clinking coins. Laundry flutters from the first and second floor windows above, drying quickly. Beyond the gates, which are thrown open for the day’s business, the street is bustling. Buskers and street vendors vie for the attentions of the passing citizens. Even though they are in the dirty trade district, it reminds him of his own childhood in Shiganshina, but this time no walls shadow the rooftops. He idly thinks of his father, and wonders where he is in this world, and what he’s doing. Eren hopes he is happy.

Eren tries to concentrate on filing down the hoof in his grip, but snatches of the conversation between the customer and the person inside the carriage keep drifting over to him on the warm summer air.

“We’ll canvass the playhouses tonight,” the person inside the carriage is saying. It sounds like a woman, though her voice is muffled through the drawn-back curtains. “Should find plenty of listening ears there.”

“You said that about this district, Marie,” the portly man replies.

“True. But I suppose there’s no accounting for tradesfolk,” says the female voice. The man chuckles.

Eren scowls down at the hoof between his knees. He feels a burning spark of indignation on behalf of Farlan and everyone he has gotten to know this past year. These are decent people, hardworking and humble, and they don’t deserve to be spoken about as if they are no better than mud between the higher-ups’ boot treads.

He sighs, quietly so as not to be overheard. It doesn’t matter. It _shouldn’t_ matter. Eren is the only person in the world who knows how much worse things could be. Haring off trying to set things to rights is pointless.

He begins fixing the new horseshoe on; hopefully the horse will be grateful, at least.

Eren assumes they are discussing politics. This new Marley has elections, and that in itself is a thing worth preserving. Farlan says it’s all anyone can talk about, the upcoming election for the Mayor of Liberio, though Eren tunes most of it out. _His_ perusal of the daily newspapers is largely limited to checking the obituaries and small ads for unexplained disappearances or wild animal maulings. He can never quite shake the feeling that he’ll wake up one day, covered in the blood of his friends and loved ones, and this new world will have been just a dream.

“Alright,” he says, and lets the horse have its leg back. He wipes his palms on his leather apron and begins putting the shoeing tools back in their pouch. “All done.”

“Ah, capital work,” says the portly customer.

 _Asshole,_ Eren thinks.

He joins them at the carriage door, vaguely curious about the lady within. She smiles at him, pretty and refined. No one he recognises. The man holds out a coin pouch, and Eren fishes out the correct coinage under his beady gaze. “Right then,” he says. “Have a good day. Try not to wait so long next time.”

The man gives him a haughty look.

He’s about to head back inside when the lady says, “Wait! Will you be voting, young man?”

Eren turns around. “Probably not, ma’am.”

“Oh. That’s a shame. Well, do take one of these anyway. It might change your mind.” She stretches a gloved hand out the window, offering a neatly folded pamphlet to him. It’s covered in finely printed script. “You never know!” she says brightly.

“I guess.” Eren takes it. Whatever will send them on their way, so he can get back to work.

They leave the courtyard behind in a clatter of hoof beats and carriage wheels, and Eren heads back inside the workshop. The ringing clang of metal on metal as Farlan hammers out the ceremonial sword is a familiar sound. Eren has become used to the scent of smelting iron and the heat of a crackling furnace this last year. It’s strangely soothing. He has come to enjoy the similitude of each day blending into the next, an endless loop of metal work and soft conversation and tea breaks. It’s beginning to feel like home.

While Farlan is preoccupied with his finer work, Eren has the iron components of a new plough to be getting on with, a big commission from one of the outlying farms of Liberio and intended for two burly oxen.

He glances idly at the inside of the pamphlet as he heads for the back of the workshop.

He stops. The pamphlet slips from between his fingers and flutters down to the ground. Eren closes his eyes, but he can still see the words printed across the top of one page behind his eyelids, and the accompanying – unmistakable – portrait beneath.

_“CAST YOUR VOTE FOR ERWIN SMITH!”_

 

Eren stares at the blank page of his journal, bathed in bright and unforgiving afternoon sunlight. He glances over to the political pamphlet beside it. The old commander’s face stares back at him, smiling and handsome. He returns to the blank journal page.

Farlan had insisted he come up here, to their shared living space above the workshop, and get his thoughts out before they suffocate him. Farlan is understanding like that, and more importantly, Eren will be useless until he has done so.

But he doesn’t know where, or even how, to start.

Eren had wondered if this day would come. The day he would meet someone he knew from before. And it’s Commander Erwin, which seems fitting really. If Eren had ever feared this was all some crazy dream, the commander’s photograph staring out at him from the pamphlet in fixed sepia blandness assures him it’s not. When Eren squints, he can tell the commander looks a little older than when Eren last knew him. And he has two arms. He’s whole, and healed, and apparently running for the Mayor of Liberio.

It feels like the relief of an ache he did not realise he was carrying until now. Here, in an unassuming pamphlet on his desk, is proof that fate has changed. That those who died before may yet live in this world. His mother, his father, Hannes. The blood-soaked memory of the final battle splashes through his mind.

Eren picks up his pen. He’d never have considered himself a writer or an artist, but many months ago Farlan had given him a simple blank journal and told him it would help with whatever he always seemed to have on his mind but refused to talk about. Eren found he couldn’t stop the thoughts from pouring forth, the neatly written stories and the hastily scrawled flashes of memory, the carefully sketched drawings and the chicken scratches of half-formed images. He feels so full of them, and they have nowhere to go. Except here, into this journal, etched onto the pages in fading ink, a silent lament for a forgotten world.

Eren plucks up the first memory of Erwin that offers itself, and he writes it down:

 

~

 

_The World Before_

 

The candlelight and fine drapery of Eren’s palace bedroom is a mockery. He wants the room to somehow be dark and ominous like his thoughts. Around his neck, he can still feel the ghostly imprint of the medal he'd been awarded for his part in the retaking of Wall Maria. He'd thrown it across the room as soon as he'd locked the door behind him.

Eren stomps back and forth in front of the open balcony windows. Autumn rainfall turns the palace gardens into mist and haze, obscures them behind a cold grey curtain, collects into puddles on the marbled balcony surface. Eren is tempted to go sploshing out there, to seek the strange bite of cold raindrops hitting his warm skin. Maybe it will cool him down.

The frustration has nowhere to go. He is holding so much inside.

Anger at Floch. Fear for Armin. Concern for Captain Levi and Commander Hange. Protectiveness over Historia.

He doesn’t know how to express any of it, not without letting everyone down. He’d stood on that rooftop and he’d said, _insisted_ , that Armin was the right choice. That without Armin, they cannot win this fight.

He does not know if it was the right thing to do. He felt so sure, but now Commander Erwin is _dead_. The man who saved Eren from the military police, the man who dedicated his life to fighting for the freedom of humanity, the man who wanted Eren – _Eren_ – to be a part of that fight. 

He comes to a halt at his balcony doors. He contemplates the downpour pattering against the toes of his socks.

Eren had never been close to Commander Erwin, not like with Captain Levi or Squad Leader Hange, but he had respected him. Perversely, Eren finds himself almost cowed with a desire to seek Erwin Smith out _right now_ and ask whether or not he did the right thing. Eren shakes his head, miserable with self-torture.

He leaves the warm candlelight behind and steps out into the rain, turns his face to the heavy skies.

The raindrops hit his cheeks in an endless rhythm of _guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt._ Eren Jaeger is responsible for the death of Commander Erwin Smith of the Survey Corps. A man who had been riding out to kill titans for longer than Eren has been alive. Even worse… Eren had made Captain Levi choose.

Eren clutches at his soaking wet hair. His nightclothes cling to his skin. Steam rises off his body like pre-dawn mist, here in the grey evening rain.

He doesn’t hear the knocking for a long time.

He considers ignoring it. He’s dripping and bedraggled and full of self-pity. It’s probably not a good look. But it might be Mikasa, and she’s the only one he wants to be around right now. Her silent, steadfast companionship… her utter lack of judgement.

So he squelches back inside the room, adds the guilt of ruining the palace carpets to his already enormous pile of guilt, and throws open his door.

“Ugh, just don’t ask— Captain?!”

Levi’s mouth opens, but for long seconds nothing comes out. He gives Eren’s appearance a slow once over and then arches an eyebrow. “Good evening, Eren.”

Eren feels himself heating with mortification. He fusses with his soggy hair. “Um, sir, what are you…?”

“I thought perhaps we might have a cup of tea,” Levi says.

Eren looks up sharply into mild grey eyes. “You want to have tea? With _me?_ ”

“If you’re finished doing—” Levi makes a vague gesture at his wet nightclothes “—whatever it is you were doing.”

“Oh.” For a moment he is rooted to the spot. Some deep, terrified part of him had wondered if Levi would ever really want to talk to him again. Eren finds himself scrambling backwards, making room in the doorway. “Yes, sir, of course! Of course.”

His heart is beating faster—

 

~

 

Eren snaps his journal closed and drops his pen. It rolls off to one side. He takes a steadying breath. Some things, some people, are harder to remember than others.

 _You could try to find him_ , a small voice whispers in the back of his mind, subdued but insistent. _You could make sure he is happy._

He drums his fingers on the leather of his journal.

Eren understands so little about this new reality. He can’t shake the vague and ridiculous fear that as soon as he meets someone from the old world, the veneer of this new world will peel away like ageing paint, revealing itself to be nothing but a sophisticated fakery all along.

“Eren.”

Eren startles in his seat at the sound of Farlan’s voice. He squints, realising belatedly that his bedroom is full of shadows. “Oh,” Eren says. “I lost track of time.”

“Clearly.” Through the gloom, Farlan is offering a friendly smile. “I made stew?”

Eren grins back.

 

They are relaxing by the kitchen hearth after their food when Farlan, head buried in a newspaper, says, “Ever since I’ve known you, Eren, you’ve had something on your mind.”

Eren stops doodling Erwin Smith’s face in his journal. Not the face from the pamphlet, the handsome mayoral candidate; the face Eren draws is one from his childhood, a man bruised and beaten, returning from a failed expedition. A man who could not bear to look an adoring child in the eye. It was the first time he ever saw Commander Erwin Smith.

“I know you won’t want to talk about it,” Farlan says. “But, well, you looked like you were going to pass out this afternoon in the workshop.”

Eren frowns.

There is the sound of rustling paper, and then Farlan is unfolding his large broadsheet and holding it up for Eren. The political pages contain what looks like an article on the election. Farlan taps a small photograph of Erwin with his fingertip. “Was it this guy? It happened after you looked at his pamphlet. What’s the—” Farlan suddenly lowers the newspaper to the kitchen table. “Oh hell, you’re not thinking of voting for the _other_ one are you?”

Farlan looks so stricken by the thought that Eren cannot help smiling. “No,” he says. “I’ve already told you I’m not sure whether I’ll vote or not.”

“That’s even worse!” Farlan huffs. “And that’s not even the point. What is it about this guy—” he taps the photograph again “—that bothers you so much?” Farlan narrows his eyes at Eren. “Surely you don’t _agree_ with the occupation of Hizuru? Because you know the opposition party is already advocating—”

Eren holds his palms up before Farlan can start an imperialism rant. “It’s not about the occupation of Hizuru,” Eren says. “Actually I, um… I knew him. About five years ago.”

“Oh.” Farlan looks down at the broadsheet again. “How?”

“I kind of worked for him.”

A disapproving frown creeps onto Farlan’s face. “Five years ago you were fifteen. The Child Labour Act specifically states—”

“Hell.” Eren rubs his forehead in frustration. He had thought about just explaining the whole damn thing before, but how do you even _explain_ ‘I come from a world of man-eating giants, however I went back in time and changed it’?

Farlan is still talking about child labour.

“Do you want a beer?” Eren asks abruptly.

Farlan blinks. “Sure, why not.”

Eren fetches them both a beer and they sit with their hands wrapped around the tankards, staring at the broadsheet and Erwin’s picture. “It’s not his politics,” Eren says eventually. “I’m just trying to decide whether to go and see him or not.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

 _I’m terrified he’ll remember me, for a start._ “Because we didn’t part on the best of terms.”

“Ah, I see.” Farlan leans back on the kitchen bench and sips his beer. “Well, you know, you won’t fix that unless you go to see him.”

Eren reaches for the broadsheet. It even has an interview with Erwin. It is an unsettling experience to read the man’s words rendered in print as he speaks of his childhood in Liberio and love for the city, its central political place in the Marleyan Empire and his concerns over Marley’s foreign policy. This Erwin Smith is not the commander, and yet… even in print, even filtered through a journalist, there is something of the man Eren remembers in the careful way he answers the questions, the diplomatic nuance that Eren cannot quite grasp at but senses lurking beyond the confines of the page, the fluttering excitement of knowing that this is a man who has _plans_.

But it isn’t him. Not really. The re-emergence of a person from his past has thrown Eren off balance. He had been alright, getting on with life and learning to be a blacksmith and dreaming that the people he had known were living their lives happily in distant parts where he would never meet them. Erwin Smith may be alive, but he will never be Erwin Smith.

Eren gulps down the last of his beer and stands up. “I think I’m going to get an early night.”

“Eren, are you alright?” Farlan asks gently.

Eren considers the question. What wouldn’t he give, for just _one_ person to talk to?

_This burden will ever be yours to carry, Eren._

“I’m alright,” he replies. “Goodnight, Farlan.”

 

Back in his room he re-opens his journal. He is by no means an artist. Erwin’s face is lumpen and his eyebrows are all wrong and Eren thinks the man he knew was slimmer than this one in the new world. It was a long time ago when Eren first saw him through the crowds of Shiganshina, and he can’t quite remember.

He takes his stick of charcoal and draws a misshapen cloak around Erwin’s shoulders. Then he uses his pen to write down a single, solitary thought:

_“I miss them.”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos so far! It means a lot.

Of course Erwin Smith’s stupidly handsome portrait follows Eren everywhere now. As the mayoral election ramps up, Liberio is slowly pasted over with shiny posters, ragged cut outs from pamphlets and newspapers, and scrawls of chalk graffiti denouncing this or that candidate which wash away with every rainfall.

Eren finally places the campaigner named Marie, the one he’d met in the carriage outside the workshop. He peers at her photograph in the newspaper, smiling by Erwin’s side. It was at some long ago function arranged by Historia. Eren grumbling to Armin about stuffy evenings with the Military Police when they could be out rebuilding Shiganshina or exploring Paradis or raining hell fire on Marley or anything but nibbling canapes and pretending to like wine. Eren remembers Nile Dok introducing him to a beautiful woman, being taken aback by her careless remark. _“To think two children from Shiganshina could be such heroes!”_ The other nobles had tittered, and Nile Dok had smiled, and Armin had put his hand on Eren’s bicep in warning.

Eren doesn’t understand how time could have rearranged itself in such a manner that this woman, in this world, is now married to Erwin Smith. They even have three children. It makes little sense to him.

He’d thought the commander was better than that.

And the weight of these thoughts on Eren’s shoulders is what causes Farlan to snap at him. “For goodness’ sake, Eren!” he says one day, peeling off his leather gloves with some force. “Just go and see the man! Working with you is like trying to wrangle a depressed puppy.”

“It’s not that, it’s—”

“What? What is it?”

“It’s...” Eren trails off. He doesn’t know how to explain it, not even to Farlan, a man who has never judged him for his weirdness and in truth seems to find it quite endearing. He can’t explain it because Eren can barely explain it to himself.

Since he recognised Marie, Eren has been unable to quash the faint fire of hope burning in his chest. Was it coincidence that two people Eren knew from the world before ended up married? Or something more?

It terrifies him, and thrills him, and keeps him rooted to the spot. _This burden will ever be yours to carry, Eren_. The instructions had been quite clear, and they linger in his brain as if burned there. This weight is one he is meant to carry alone. It cannot be shared.

“Eren.” Farlan jabs Eren in the ribcage with his finger, right over his heart. “I told you before. Nothing gets fixed unless you fix it.”

Eren rubs at his chest. “Alright,” he says.

 

Two weeks after he first discovered the existence of Mayoral Candidate Erwin Smith, Eren finds himself standing in front of Liberio’s city hall, clutching his journal, still wondering what the fuck he is doing. The sky is darkening from the ruddy glow of sunset into the purple-blue of twilight, and the first stars are beginning to sparkle overhead. Gilded candelabras glow through windows in this prosperous part of the city.

Liberio is nothing like the town his father grew up in. There are no internment zones, only the outer trade districts and poorest neighbourhoods are stained with factory smoke, and it is a city that feels… proud of itself. Wealthy and refined.

Sometimes, when he awakens from nightmares in the depths of night, Eren realises he has given the Marleyans what they wanted all along: a world without the Eldian devils, a world without the threat of destruction, a world in which humanity has flourished.

He still holds the memories of his father, so distant now, sitting at a rickety table and murmuring to a wide-eyed boy, “Everything the Marleyans say is wrong.”

Eren joins the crowds shuffling into the city hall. He has scrubbed himself up and tied his long hair back with a piece of ribbon, as is the fashion in this new Marley. He’s wearing Farlan’s nicest frock coat – being of a similar height and build comes in handy – and he’s polished his shoes for the occasion. The cravat around his neck is tight and stifling for all the wrong reasons.

Half a dozen political broadsides have been forced into his hands by the time he slumps into a seat at the back of the lecture hall. He takes out his journal and fountain pen and flips to a blank page. A chandelier with intricate metalwork casts a golden glow over the evening’s proceedings.

When Erwin walks out on stage, charming and guarded, Eren thinks the other candidate probably doesn’t stand a chance.

The political debate is mind-numbingly dull, so Eren spends the evening trying to capture the particular curl of Erwin’s hair. When the debate draws to a close and trays of champagne begin to appear, he considers hightailing it out of there. But Erwin looks relaxed and even mildly approachable, standing at the front with his wife, greeting well-wishers.

Eren heads for the group. Every step, he wonders if he should turn back or not. It feels reckless to approach Erwin like this and yet… Eren needs to know. _I can bear this burden on my own if I know he’s okay_ , he tells himself.

He hovers at their elbows, trying not to feel out of place. Fancy social functions never were his strength.

Snatches of the conversation drift through; it sounds as though Erwin and Marie are taking their leave. The group begins to disperse and— he can’t lose this opportunity.

With little delicacy, he steps in front of Marie. “Oh!” she says, taken aback. “Hello young—” She stops speaking and squints at him. “Have we met before, dear?”

“Hello ma’am,” he says in his politest voice. “We met recently, I shod a horse for you. You gave me a pamphlet and I was hoping to have a word with, um, the candidate.” _Why is it so hard to say his name?_

Eren is keenly aware of Erwin’s sharp eyes trained on the side of his head, and he keeps his gaze on Marie, doing his best to look, well, sweet.

“Oh, yes, of course!” Her puzzled look betrays that she has no memory of the courtyard or his blacksmith’s services. She reaches for Erwin’s arm, evidently losing interest. “I’m afraid the candidate is extremely busy this evening. But it was lovely seeing you again! Remember to vote!”

Before he knows it, the couple have swept by him, and Eren is left standing alone, wondering how many years it would take to perfect such a useful social manoeuvre. Back at Historia’s palace functions, he always used to get stuck speaking to idiots he didn’t want to. “Wait!” he calls. “Wait. It’s about—” Eren casts around frantically “—it’s about the occupation of Hizuru!”

Erwin stops. Turns and smiles pleasantly. “Oh! Well, I’m always willing to discuss the injustices being done in Hizuru. Are you… doing a project for school?”

_Crap!_ Eren thinks. _Which side was Erwin on again?_

He is distracted by the way Marie, so carefully composed before, rolls her eyes fondly at Erwin. There is a moment between the two of them, a moment in which her polite guarded smile softens, in which Erwin places his lips against her temple, and then it is over. The bland political faces return.

“What school are you attending?” Erwin asks politely, glancing at Eren’s journal.

There are so many things that Eren wants to say. He wants to tell Erwin how he finally unlocked the true power of the founding titan. How for a brief moment during the final battle, when all seemed lost, Eren had felt something inside him break. How he had felt them, all of them, the titan shifters stretching back a thousand years, then further. How Eren had travelled those interwoven Paths through time until he stood in the primeval woods with a little girl, a sad and lonely little girl about to make a deal with a devil. How he had reached out to Ymir Fritz and said, _“Please. Don’t.”_ He wants to tell Erwin their sacrifices meant something.

“I—” Eren starts. He realises, with an unsettling finality, that there is nothing that he really wants to say to _this_ Erwin Smith. “Actually,” he says. “Perhaps I can look the information up at the library.”

The frown of annoyance that crosses Marie’s delicate brow is easy enough to spot, but Erwin just looks curious. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You know, the conditions in Hizuru and what we as one of the central cities of Marley can do to alleviate the suffering of the people there is one of the key tenets of my campaign. I’d be happy to provide you with a quote—”

“Oh, darling!” Marie pats his arm. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

For just a second, Eren feels a camaraderie with Marie, snob though she may be.

“It’s not necessary,” Eren agrees hastily. “I’m sorry to trouble you. Good luck on your campaign… Mister Smith.”

He spins on his heel and hurries away, weaving back through the crowds. Before he escapes, he casts a glance back. Erwin and Marie are still caught there, accosted by someone else, glowing and gilded beneath the golden light of the chandelier.

As he walks home with his hands in the pockets of his fine coat, and his journal full of sketches of Erwin, something in Eren unravels. Remarkably, he feels lighter. Erwin is alright. He’s _happy_. Maybe it does not matter that Eren will never know the old Erwin again, will never know any of them again. Maybe Eren can bear this alone simply knowing they are happy.

The world before belongs in the past. Eren will not resurrect it, except in his deepest and most treasured memories, the ones he will write in his journal. He will not resurrect the horror and the tragedy; he will let Erwin and anyone else he finds live in happiness.

He will make sure they are happy.

The following evening, Eren finds himself back in front of city hall, windswept and panting from his bicycle ride. Farlan had simply raised his eyebrows at Eren’s new plans. He will forever be grateful to Farlan for scooping him off the streets in those disorienting early days, but Eren was never meant to be a blacksmith.

 

If Eren had thought Erwin waltzing back into his life on a pamphlet meant searching for others would be easy, he is swiftly disabused of the notion. He grows used to seeing the sun set and the stars rise from the city library and record office windows. He grows used to cycling home late at night, collapsing into bed, and asking himself whether or not it is really worth it.

He casts his vote after all, and Erwin is elected Mayor of Liberio. Farlan judges Eren ready to handle the workshop by himself, and takes an extended trip to see family.

It is five months before his search yields any results. Eren finds the name _"Braus"_ buried deep in the court records, in the title deeds to a landholding on Paradis, which only made its way to Liberio because there was some complicated dispute over an acre of woodland. It’s not Arlert, and it’s not Ackerman, but it is a start.

He copies the details carefully into his journal, but since Farlan is away, he cannot venture to Paradis yet. Perhaps it is for the best. Whenever he thinks of the island, his heart goes frantic and a clammy sweat breaks out in the small of his back. Too many memories, perhaps.

But still, Sasha…

It is three months after Farlan returns, nearly a year into Erwin’s Mayorship of Liberio, when the young woman at the court records office sends him a note which reads:

_“Eren, one of the names you are looking for has surfaced. Ackerman.”_

Eren drops everything and runs for his bicycle to a shout of, “You'd better make this time up later!”

He is sweating and breathless when he bursts into the records office. He forgets to shoot the secretary his usual flirtatious smile, forgets to keep up the pretence that he is interested. She looks bemused when she hands him the blank envelope. There is a pristine leather sofa set against one wall, and he sinks down onto it. The envelope contains carefully inked copies of yet another legal dispute, and Eren thinks Armin would probably be proud of how adept he has become at reading legal documents over the last year.

Eren scans it quickly, heart pounding.

“Is everything alright, Eren?” the secretary asks.

“Yes,” Eren mutters.

It is a legal dispute over the inheritance of a business in one of Marley’s port towns. The first name is one he doesn’t recognise, a Rhince Ackerman who passed away nearly a decade ago. The dispute over his will has been lengthy. Eren’s eyes move faster and faster, and his gaze finally snags on a name he recognises. His stomach drops.

“Kenny?!”

And then, at last, several paragraphs further down, is an Ackerman he _has_ been looking for.

He touches the name, traces the neat calligraphy. “Levi,” Eren murmurs. “ _Levi_.” Eren wants to reach through the words, take hold of him, and never let go. “The defendant, one Levi Ackerman,” he reads, “maintains heretofore that the claimant, Kenny Ackerman did not— wait, what?” Eren flicks back and forth over the pages. He can’t quite believe what he is reading. Levi is in some kind of protracted legal dispute with Kenny? Kenny is trying to _steal_ Levi’s business?!

That… that fucker!

 

The train ticket lies in a shaft of moonlight that cascades over the kitchen table.

Eren knows he should get up and light the candles, stoke the fire, maybe put the kettle on or make some sandwiches for Farlan who is working late down in the workshop.

He stares at the train ticket. Eren has never been on a train before.

_I found Levi._

_Levi is not okay._

Earlier, these two thoughts had propelled him from the court records office to the grand old train station. He’d paid for the ticket to the distant southern port town of Slava with shaking fingers.

Slava is not even _in_ Marley. The mid-east is a region of several colonial holdings through which the luxuries of the far eastern world tend to travel, by sea or overland. It’s a three day train journey, and Eren’s ticket is for tomorrow.

He peers around at the shadowed living quarters. It smells of familiarity and comfort, of last night’s chicken broth and ore-caked boots and dusty floorboards. Perhaps in not lighting the candles, in not recreating the warmth and welcome that he has come to associate with this place over the last two years, he is already saying goodbye.

Farlan has done so much for him, has been a friend and teacher, someone who quietly cares about this world, someone who has taken pains not to make Eren feel out of place whenever he asks questions which — to anyone who doesn’t know his true past, which is everyone — must seem remarkably stupid.

Eren hasn’t even made up the hours he skipped earlier.

He rests his head on the table and sighs wearily. How is it that he’s only twenty one? He feels like an old man.

“Well, that was a depressing sound.”

“Huh?” Eren raises his head.

Farlan leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I didn’t know you were back. Why are you sitting in the dark?” Farlan wanders over to grab the candlestick from the table. His hand stills in mid-air, then changes course to pick up the train ticket. Farlan squints at it in the moonlight. “ _Slava?_ ”

Eren sighs again.

“You’re going to Slava? Eren, this ticket is for tomorrow. What’s going on?” Farlan pulls out a chair and sits down, scratching at his metal-dusted hair in the darkness.

“I found one of the people I’ve been looking for.”

“Well, that’s great! And they’re in Slava?”

Eren nods. “It’s short notice. I’m sorry.”

Farlan considers the ticket. Eren can sense his kind blue-eyed gaze flicking back and forth between him and the tickets. He taps his fingernails on the kitchen table. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?” Farlan asks eventually.

“Maybe a couple of weeks?” Eren doesn’t exactly know what his plans are when he gets to Slava. Lurk in an alleyway and spy on Levi like a freak? Silently throttle Kenny Ackerman and toss him into the sea? Fall at Levi’s feet in a flood of tears? Really, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he’s doing at all. He should stay out of this. With Erwin, it was easy to walk away, to let him be happy in the new life he has in this expansive world. With Levi, Eren is not so sure.

“The other one you found,” Farlan says tentatively. “The one on… Paradis, was it? You didn’t go rushing off to see _that_ one.”

“You were up north.”

“And when I got back?”

Eren purses his lips. For distraction, he sets about getting a fire going in the hearth and lighting the candles.

“I haven’t seen you like this since you saw the first one,” Farlan remarks. “The _mayor_.”

Eren pokes at the coal in the hearth without much enthusiasm. “This one might be in trouble,” Eren admits. “He’s… important to me.”

“Oh!” Farlan swivels on his chair. “You should have said. Do you need any help?”

Of course. _“You know, I’ve been thinking of taking on an apprentice…”_ Eren smiles at the memory. Two years! Time goes so quickly once you settle into a routine, he thinks. “I hope not.” He puts the poker back in its metal basket. “He was always a very capable man. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

As Eren begins to pull out crusty bread and strong cheese and churned butter from the kitchen larder, Farlan says, in a soft tone, “Tell me about him?”

Eren places the food on a chopping board and then reaches up to the top shelf of the pantry for the beers. It would be too tall for Levi to reach, he thinks fondly. Unless… could he be a different height in this new world? Eren has never been able to wrap his head around the myriad of subtle and unfathomable changes between the old world and the new. Like why Liberio is a grand, bustling, _old_ city when before it had been grey and dreary and depressing. Like why Sasha Braus is still on Paradis but Erwin Smith grew up in Liberio and got married to Nile Dok’s wife. It hurts his head too much to think of the two thousand year span of time between himself and Ymir Fritz, and everything that could have happened in between.

So maybe Levi is taller?

“Though if he’s another one of these dubious employers of yours I’m not sure I want to know,” Farlan says, interrupting Eren’s thoughts. “You don’t _have_ to tell me. If you don’t want to.”

Eren plonks the beers down on the table. “No, I think I’d like to.” Eren begins carving up the bread. “His name is Levi. And yes, I worked for him…”

 

Later, much later, as Farlan drops him into bed and the room is spinning and Eren hasn’t even packed, he hears himself saying, “You’ve been very good to me, Farlan.”

“Just remember to write,” is the amused reply. “Somehow, I suspect you’ll be longer than a few weeks.”

“Right. Yes. I’ll write. Right.” The bed is too cold and Eren burrows down. “I don’t know if I have enough room in me for everyone I miss,” he mumbles. “Too many people.”

He feels blankets being tucked around his chin, gentle and sure. “Go to sleep, Eren.”

“Okay, Farlan.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been a while since the last update, ‘twas the season of being busy! I hope to get into a regular writing & posting schedule from now on. I have a tumblr if you're interested, [fluffymusketeer.tumblr.com](http://fluffymusketeer.tumblr.com). I sometimes post little drabbles or writing updates on there, as well as reblogging lots of pretty fanart!

The eagle has been following the train all day, soaring high overhead as the incessant  _chug chug chug_ tries to lull Eren to sleep. He stretches out his legs, wincing at the sore and cramped muscles, and attempts to stop thinking about Levi.

The further the train travels from Liberio, the more the reality of what he is about to do is setting in. Eren cannot work out if the pounding of his heart means he is terrified or excited, but whatever it is, it’s keeping him awake.

The overland route to the distant port town of Slava is a changing one. Yesterday, as the steam train chugged slowly out of Liberio with Farlan waving good naturedly from the platform, Eren had not known what to expect. He barely remembers the landscape of the Marley before. His mind back then was on the tactical rather than the picturesque, but two years of rest have apparently given him a new eye for beauty. They had left the agricultural pastures of Liberio behind after a few hours and entered endless fenlands that stretched flat and marshy as far as the eye could see, vast skies overhead like something eternal. Then rolling hills and farmsteads, which gradually got steeper and rockier.

It will be a three day train journey, and when Eren had opened the curtains that morning, they were in the mountains, and the eagle had picked up their trail. Eren wonders why it has decided to follow them. As it glides over the great woody forests and swoops between the snow-capped peaks, it seems to echo the cadence of Eren’s heart: sometimes calm, and sometimes beating frantically. With every mile, with every hour, he grows closer to Levi.

He leans his head against the window as the train cuts through valleys, takes tunnels under mountains, crosses iron bridges of engineering mastery. Thoughts of Levi lead to thoughts of flying, and he imagines how the wind would bite against his cheeks if he were to navigate this landscape with his old manoeuvre gear. He misses flying.

The eagle’s shadow is a silhouette against the high fluffy clouds, its wings spread in freedom.

Eren closes his eyes.

 

~

 

_The World Before_

 

The skies are clear tonight. The winter snow is beginning to melt, icicles dripping into puddles far below on the forest floor. From his high perch in the canopy, Eren can see the stars behind the stars, vast constellations scattered in a timeless display across the heavens. He cannot shake the feeling of eerie familiarity. Like something from a long ago dream.

Eren’s hot breath makes swirling clouds of steam in the chilly air. He rubs his palms together and blows into them.

The snow-scattered landscape, a patchwork of blueish white and deep grey, is so quiet he can hear the faint breeze rustling through the treetops. How long has it been since they saw the last of the titans? Weeks, Eren realises in surprise. It’s been weeks.

“Oi, Eren.”

Eren startles so violently he nearly slips off the tree branch. For a brief moment his arms wheel in mid-air, before he latches onto the branch above. He clutches his chest. “Sir,” he pants.

“Tch. Some lookout you are.” Levi takes a knee, anchoring himself into the tree. “What are you doing up here, Eren?”

Eren catches his breath. He wonders if he’ll ever reach a point where Levi’s natural stealth doesn’t startle him. “Just watching… the stars… Sir.”

“Hm,” Levi replies.

He expects Levi to leave then, curiosity sated. But instead he sits down beside Eren, and it is then Eren notices he is holding a sturdy mug of steaming tea. He cups it protectively, fingers hovering over the rim.

“You like the stars?” Levi enquires.

Eren shrugs. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“I suppose.”

Things have been different between them since that night in the palace. Eren had barely expected Levi to ever talk to him again, let alone to seek him out and try to fix things between them, but that is what had happened. They shared a sofa, and drank tea, and hesitantly found their way to each other again despite the heartbreak and betrayal and grief. And since then, well Eren isn’t entirely sure, but it has _felt_ like Levi is seeking him out.

He doesn’t know why, but he’s not going to argue. Levi’s company has become a source of comfort, the man’s enduring, stoic presence a buffer against the turbulent rhythms of the outside world.

“Why aren’t you asleep, Eren?” Levi asks at last. “You look tired.”

Eren leans his head against the rough bark of the tree, tucks his arms in tight against his chest. “I could ask you the same thing.” He’s slightly startled by his own daring.

“You _could_ ,” Levi says, with a distinct undertone that suggests he _shouldn’t._ He takes a careful sip of his tea.

“Why do you hold your cups like that anyway?” Eren blurts.

He watches as Levi peers down at his slim fingers, their hold on the cup firm yet delicate. The steam from the hot liquid rises in whorls and spirals into the cold winter night. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

Eren doesn’t expect Levi to tell him, not really, but he proceeds to do just that. In brusque, no-nonsense words, he describes saving up for a china tea set when he was younger, and upon using it for the first time, the cup handle broke and it fell onto the set, smashing it beyond repair. “So that’s the story,” he finishes with a shrug, gaze fixed on the star-scattered horizon.

Eren hugs himself a little tighter and stares out at the snowy night landscape, giving Levi his privacy. He’s pushed enough for one night, even though Levi shared the story willingly when asked. Eren feels that he should share something too, and in the end murmurs, “My mother used to collect china plates.”

“Oh?” Levi sips his tea and glances over mildly.

“She kept them on the mantel over the fireplace,” he continues. “She used to make me polish them _..._ they were pretty fancy.”

“Sounds like she had good taste,” Levi remarks.

Eren nods, trying to remember the specific designs of the plates, but they are lost in the mists of memory now, just hazy recollections with few details. It’s the same thing with his memories of her face, which pains him much more.

“You never talk much about her. Your mother. Do you have any stories?”

Eren lifts an eyebrow, settling into the nook of the tree, his gear anchoring him in safely. Levi appears relaxed, his feet dangling in mid-air over the edge of the branch. He doesn’t look overly worried about keeping a lookout, for all he had chided Eren earlier. Far below, Eren can see the frost-covered tents and dying cooking fires of the encampment.

“I have lots of stories,” Eren murmurs, at last.

Levi looks up at the full moon, its silver glow arcing slowly across the clear night sky. He shrugs and says, “I have time.”

 

~

 

Eren is awoken abruptly by the refreshments trolley making its way down the train corridor. He pokes his head out, purchases a cup of tea and cheese sandwich, and settles down to enjoy the view of the midday sun across the mountains.

He checks to see if the eagle is still with them. He spots it far off and drifting further away. Perhaps it is reaching its destination and no longer needs the train for guidance? Eren says a silent goodbye, then toys idly with his journal. It has been a while since he last dreamed of Levi.

Eren has attempted to draw Levi many times in his journals, but he could never quite get it right. Now he has such a clear picture in his head from the dream. Levi relaxed, his face tipped back and dappled with winter shadows, his eyes reflecting the moon, his breath misting in the cold night air, his fingers resting delicately over his cup. Maybe Eren’s subconscious dredged that up knowing he is on his way to find the man himself?

He nibbles at his sandwich and gets out his charcoal.

 

When Eren steps onto the railway platform at the end of his final connection, he realises his emotions have definitely tipped towards outright fear. _Oh fuck, what am I doing?_ he thinks, staring at the unfamiliar world around him.

To Eren, accustomed to the fine old buildings of Liberio, Slava looks like a sprawling mass of docks, taverns, and warehouses, and it crawls haphazardly up a steep hillside to an abandoned fort. As the train had drawn closer to Slava, more locals had boarded, and Eren had ended up sharing his cabin with a woman who grew up in the port town. She had described to him how Slava’s chaotic minarets and archways were based upon the old fort’s pre-Marleyan architecture, and how it had been crushed to smithereens in a famous siege centuries ago, when the mid-east peninsula had finally fallen to Marleyan imperial rule.

Eren had listened politely, and wondered what Farlan would have had to say.

He is startled by an enormous seagull cawing loudly above his head, before it flaps down to peck up titbits from the station platform. Eren stares at the bird, then glances at the ocean out beyond Slava’s harbour, and suddenly he can’t seem to find his way out of his own memories. He feels his breathing edge towards hyperventilation, and tries desperately to recall the calm he had found while sketching Levi’s upturned face in moonlight.

He is swept along with the local crowds to the front of the train station and a line of open-top carriages, their drivers wearing square fez hats and lazily batting flies away from their horses’ flanks. Eren’s ears are assaulted by the disorienting polyglot of tongues being shouted and hollered about the street.

He leans against his travel cases and tries to ignore the squawking seagulls and the cacophony of horse snorts and hoof stamps. The thought of meeting Levi again is filling him with a slow-growing terror, and yet it is only the thought of Levi – for so long the still centre around which the Survey Corps revolved – that can truly calm him. It’s incredibly disorienting, and the sweltering heat of the crowds isn’t helping, and goodness only knows what he must look like because one of the carriage drivers is suddenly grasping at his elbow.

“You need a ride, sir?” the carriage driver asks, looking concerned.

Eren swallows and closes his eyes. “Please. Yes. Yes please.”

He asks for the nearest boarding house, anywhere calm and quiet. He is reminded of those early weeks in Liberio, before Farlan had found him, when he’d yearned for the structured life of the military and a world which was smaller and simpler.

The man at the boarding house eyes him suspiciously. “There are hotels near the old fort,” he says, looking meaningfully at Eren’s clothes.

Eren peers down at himself. He’d changed into a set of Farlan’s old town clothes, the ones he used for delivering commissions to wealthy customers before Eren came along and was drafted for that particular job. The clothes smell like Farlan; they smell like home. Eren has made an effort to look smart, though admittedly he is rather… hot. The climate of the mid-east territories is much warmer than the northern city of Liberio.

“Here will do fine,” Eren tells him. He can’t afford anywhere else, and he cannot bear to go back out into the crowds just yet.

Eren takes his time unpacking his clothes, putting them neatly away in his new room’s rickety closet, trying to restore order to his thoughts as he does so. He takes off his frock coat – _why did I wear this thing?_ he thinks, sweating – and closes the shutters to keep out the afternoon sun. Once his clothes are away, and his half-filled journal and writing equipment are stacked tidily on the scuffed desk, Eren loosens his cravat and has a much needed lie down.

He stares at the cracked paint on the ceiling and tries to visualise the pep talk the old Levi would be giving him right about now. _Stop being an idiot,_ he tells himself. _Failure isn’t an option, soldier. You have to get this done._

In the end, he can put it off no longer. _It’s Levi. He might be in trouble, and you owe him. Get up, Eren._

_Get. Up._

He gets off the bed, grabs his room key, and sets out to find his former Captain.

 

The only address he has for Levi is a warehouse at the docks, the one the legal document had registered to him. Eren goes on foot, challenging himself to get used to the bustling frenzy of Slava. The town is a maze of archways and stairwells and steep winding alleyways, though it’s not hard to simply head downhill in the direction of the harbour and sparkling expanse of ocean beyond.

Eren steadies his nerves on his walk. He plans in his head what he will say, practices looking nonchalant and mildly curious instead of the desperation he feels inside. If nothing else, Eren can hold on to this: he _misses_ Levi, even more than he misses flying. Even if all he will do in Slava is make the man’s acquaintance, then head back to Liberio when all is well, that will be enough.

Eren promises himself that it will be enough. Just like Erwin, the old Levi is gone, existing now only in Eren’s heart.

It is well into the afternoon when he turns onto the correct street down at the docks, a narrow cobblestone walkway with sun-bleached wooden warehouses and yet more seagulls cawing over the breaking waves. A salty sea breeze blows in over the rooftops, and the sun is _beating_ down. Eren opens another shirt button, cursing his fine woollen trousers. What a state to show up in.

He is busy reading the fading signs above the warehouse doorways, repeating the business name to himself, when he spots it on the other side of the street. Eren’s nerves all fire at once. His palms are clammy, but he’s given himself this task, and he must see it through. When he draws closer to the door, however, all his efforts to get a hold of himself are undone.

He stares at the cracked letters spelling out _Ackerman’s China_ , and more importantly, at the logo beside them.

It isn’t an image Eren ever thought he’d see again, but he knows it well. Graceful blue and white stripes that criss-cross each other in a shape which is burned into Eren’s very soul.

The logo for Levi’s business is the wings of freedom.

 

 _How?_ Eren thinks.

Perched in a doorway opposite _Ackerman’s China_ , the question repeats itself over and over. He has completely lost track of time, is distantly aware of the sun’s rays easing up against the skin of his forearms, but he hardly cares.

Does Levi remember? _It’s not possible_. Ymir had _said_ that Eren would have to lose Levi. Just like everyone else.

He glances once more at the wings of freedom. As the afternoon has worn on and the sun has sunk down towards the horizon, he can see now that the logo isn’t perfect. It’s a good approximation, but parts of it are incorrect, as if it has been painted from a half-remembered dream.

A little like Eren’s journal sketches, only he’s pretty sure most of that is due to lack of talent rather than lack of memories.

Could Levi be dreaming of the old world?

His head sinks to his knees once more, and Eren tries to talk himself into walking up to the warehouse door, knocking, and asking for answers. Yet he’s frozen with indecision. Does he _want_ Levi to remember? He hardly knows. He cannot deny the smallest glimmer of hope deep within his chest, an almost involuntary reaction to seeing the wings of freedom again after so long, but to think he might have taken on this burden and it hadn’t _worked_ , that the people dearest to him may still remember the horrors of the old life… it’s too much.

Eren goes still when he hears the creak of a wooden door, the scuff of boots stomping over straw and sawdust-packed cobblestones, and he dare not look up when the boots come to a halt beneath his nose. His mind isn’t working right, because the first thing he notices is a patch stitched onto one of the worn out boots, a makeshift repair to keep them going longer, and he thinks reflexively, _of course, I should have known, of course it’s not him—_

A lead pipe swings once across his line of vision. “Kid, you’ve been out here all afternoon. If you’re planning to break into my warehouse tonight, you need a better hiding spot.”

It’s him.

Eren steels his nerves and looks up, because it’s been two years since he last saw Levi’s glassy dead eyes staring at him from across the battlefield, hundreds of journal pages wasted in trying to remember, and he cannot wait any longer.

The first thing he notices is the scar.

It’s like a slice dissecting the left side of his face, across eyebrow and cheekbone, the skin puckering where it was not stitched properly. Levi has a _scar_ on his face. A horrible, disfiguring scar. Eren’s can’t help but gape. He knows he shouldn’t, but it’s like someone has shoved a knife straight into his gut. “What _happened?”_ he blurts.

Levi’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, the one on the left not moving in quite the same way as the one on the right due to the scar tissue. It gives him a half sceptical, half surprised expression. “Well, you’re forward,” he says.

“I—I’m sorry,” Eren mutters, frantically trying to look at anything _but_ the scar. Oh Levi, _Levi…_

His eyes track back down to the patched boots, which are the kind of supple leather knee high boots he’s been seeing all day, and Levi’s trousers are loose, brown, and dusty. He’s wearing the traditional linen shirt that seems so popular around here, with dangling tie at the waist and thick colourful stripes of orange-hued embroidery at the neck and cuffs. Except for the scar, he looks… good. Slightly tanned, even.

 _His hair is a bit longer_ , Eren thinks vaguely. _Does he remember me?_

The lead pipe swings in front of his vision once more. “So are you planning to steal from me or what? I don’t have all day.”

Something else is strange. Levi’s grip on the pipe, the flex of his knuckles, the position of his thumb… it’s not right. _I could rip that thing straight out of his hand_ , Eren realises.  _He’s bluffing_.

“I’m not going to steal from you,” Eren says slowly, feeling weird. His gaze drifts over the scar once more. “I’m sorry.”

Levi huffs a big sigh and lets the pipe dangle.

 _Wrong,_ Eren thinks. _Bad tactic_.

His eyes are still the same pale grey they always were, the bright sunshine of the mid-east coast bringing out the faint flecks of blue that Eren remembers so well. Erwin’s eyes had been the same too, even if everything else had been different.

“So why _have_ you been sitting here half the day?” Levi asks. “You shit yourself or something?”

Eren blinks, disoriented by this man who is Levi but not Levi. He looks for it, but he cannot see a single spark of recognition in those familiar eyes. It’s hard to say beneath the loose Slava clothing, but he seems a little leaner, perhaps a little taller. Slowly, Eren gets up from the ground, joints aching. Levi takes a cautious step back, grip tightening marginally on the pipe, and cranes his neck to peer up at him. Not _that_ much taller, then.

Eren dusts off his trousers. “I’m sorry to alarm you,” he begins, choosing his words carefully. His heart is pounding frantically, his nerves are shot to hell, but he’s had many years to practice putting on a calm front to smother the storm brewing inside. “I was in the area and I, uh, wondered what your sign meant.”

Levi turns his head around to stare at the small signage above the warehouse doors. “It’s a sign for my business.”

“No,” Eren explains. “I mean the—the wings. What do the wings mean?”

Levi takes another step away from Eren.

Oh hell, this is all going horribly wrong. The late afternoon sunlight is shimmering across the sign for the warehouse, the clumsy painted shapes sparkling. If nothing else, Eren at least needs to find out if Levi is okay. “Are you—”

“Are you alright, kid?” Levi asks at the same time.

They both pause. Levi is in the middle of the street, edging back towards his building, but he seems to hover there. It’s clear he does not know what to make of Eren.

Eren is still fumbling when Levi says, “Look, I’m not afraid to use this—” he waves the pipe in what, Eren assumes, is meant to be a menacing way “—but if you need to use a telephone or something, we recently had one connected. You can come in and use it. If you need to.”

“I don’t—”

“If not, you should clear out. The docks are no place for someone like you after dark.”

“Someone like me?” Eren bristles. He can tell, without a doubt, that he can handle himself better than this Levi can. He looks like he’s about to drop that lead pipe. Eren is still a former soldier of nearly a decade’s hard experience.

“Not unless—” Levi stops abruptly and his eyes widen. He gives Eren’s clothes a once-over and then, completely unexpectedly, he starts to blush. “Oh,” he says. “ _Oh_. I… may have misread the situation.” He puts his hands up. “I'm sorry, we don’t usually see men in your line of work. Not up this end of the docks, anyway.”

Eren cannot keep up.

“I’ll just let you get on with business.” Levi reaches hastily for the door to his warehouse. “Have fun! Fuck. I mean stay _safe_. Whatever.”

“Wait!” Eren says, moving across the street after him. “Wait, you think I’m— _no!_ ” He peers down in mortification at Farlan’s fine daywear, perfectly acceptable in Liberio. “I’d never, I’m just… I’m Eren! I’m just Eren.” He can feel his face going horribly red as well.

Levi has stopped at the doorway, and runs his fingers through his hair in obvious embarrassment. The blush beneath the skin of his left cheek forms an ugly contrast to the white scar tissue dissecting it. Levi’s hair is definitely longer and a little less kempt, but it’s still styled in an undercut and it still looks soft. At least some things haven’t changed too much.

“So do you need to use the phone or not?” he eventually asks.

Eren takes a cautious step closer, so that they are standing either side of creaking wooden entryway. The warehouse looks dark and cool, in contrast to the dry coastal heat. He doesn’t want to lose this opportunity. “I suppose there is someone I could call, let him know I’ve arrived safely—”

“Levi! I'm back!"

Levi sighs when a second set of footsteps patters up, light and quick on the dusty streets. Eren glances over Levi’s shoulder, curious.

And feels his world go still.

Her footsteps falter for the briefest instant, and then she smiles brightly. “Eren!” she says, voice delicate and kind. “Finally! I was beginning to think you’d never make it.”

Levi swivels round to face her. “What? You know this idiot?”

Eren barely hears it.

She is luminous in her beauty, just as she was when he saw her last, scattering to the winds across an ocean of starlight. Hair like ash, eyes silvery pale. The clothes are different; she’s wearing practical cotton trousers and a dust-stained shirt, her hair is tied back, but she’s still the same woman he met in a dream, in a world between worlds.

And she’s standing here… in Slava.

She’s here.

In _Slava._

“Eren?” she says, her expression collapsing into one of acute concern.

He hears his voice croak her name as if he is deep underwater and drowning.

“ _Ymir?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp! The plot thickens! Feedback is appreciated ^o^


	5. Chapter 5

_“Ymir?”_

Levi blinks in surprise and stares at the young man in front of him, whose skin is turning a deathly pallor with startling rapidity. He glances at Ymir, alarmed.

She lurches forward. “Eren!”

Levi spins round in time to catch the body as it slumps forward, stumbling under the sudden dead weight. “What the fuck?” he mutters.

“Oh no! Eren!” Ymir leans in, her fingers hovering across the kid’s – Eren’s – fluttering eyelashes.

There is a faint mumbling coming from the solid, and very _heavy_ , weight draped over Levi’s shoulder. “Why—why is she here?” It comes out slurred.

“No, no, no,” Ymir says. “Oh, I _knew_ the wings were too much.” She wafts her hand at his face.

Levi examines the waxy sheen of sweat that is breaking out across Eren’s forehead and awkwardly manoeuvres so he can place the back of his hand against it. Eren, whoever he is to Ymir, is burning up. “Alright,” Levi says to Ymir. “Grab his damn legs.”

Together they carry Eren indoors, through the dry darkness of the warehouse, and into Levi’s office. They deposit him on the old rattan sofa, and Levi goes to fetch some water from the standpipe. As he waits for the jug to fill, he listens to the sea waves sloshing against the docks just a few streets over, breathes in the stale dust and ocean salt that has seeped into the warehouse walls.

 _Please don’t let this be another stray,_ he thinks quietly to himself. Two years ago, he had taken in Ymir, but he didn’t think there’d be others.

He returns to find her brushing Eren’s long hair out of his eyes, and the top buttons on his shirt have been undone. Levi raises an eyebrow, but pours a glass of water and passes it over. Ymir fusses over their unexpected guest, easing the water into his slack mouth.

Levi shunts a pile of paperwork out of the way and leans against his desk. “Well.” He crosses his arms. “Care to explain?”

Ymir has been a good assistant to him these last two years. True, she was in a terrible state when he found her, sleeping rough on one of his ships one night, but she’d straightened herself out and proven a valuable asset to the business. Not to mention something of a guard dog whenever Kenny deigns to show up. Levi has never understood her instant dislike of his uncle – usually Kenny takes at least a fortnight to thoroughly piss people off – but he appreciates it nonetheless. It’s highly amusing.

He has never troubled himself much over where she came from. In a town like Slava, one doesn’t ask many questions. But as he watches her shoulders go tense and her back go rigid at his enquiry, he reconsiders whether he should have.

“You know, I thought he was a hooker,” Levi says mildly.

Ymir swivels round and shoots him a disapproving frown. “You did _not_.”

“So what is he? Long lost brother? Violent husband?” Levi takes note of the movement of her throat as she swallows. “Worse?”

“It’s… complicated.”

Levi sighs and rubs at the sensitive skin around his scar, his eyes dry and tired from being at the warehouse since before dawn. The last of the sunlight is fading, the sky through the cracks in the corrugated tin roof and the wooden eaves turning a ruddy pink, and it looks like they’re going to be here a while yet. He can hardly throw a barely conscious kid - Eren doesn’t look a day over twenty - out on the streets.

“I guess I’ll put the kettle on,” he says.

Levi roots around for his small kettle and portable oil-powered stove, shifting aside boxes of order forms and new samples. When he finds them and makes room on his desk, he glances up and is startled to find a pair of green eyes watching him.

Ymir is stroking his hair gently, but Eren’s eyes are _fixed_ on Levi.

He shifts awkwardly. “You’re awake then.”

“Where am I?” Eren asks.

“My office.”

Those big eyes blink once, owlishly, then sweep over the dusty office shelves and stacks of files, and back to Levi.

It’s… unsettling.

“Eren, how are you feeling?” Ymir says.

The eyes leave him, and Levi fights the urge to scratch at his skin, suddenly antsy and claustrophobic. He watches as the disturbing gaze tracks up to his assistant. The tension in the room is thick and weighty, a tangible thing, and Levi flicks a glance at his pipe propped in the corner. ‘Complicated’ covers far too many possibilities, he thinks to himself.

Some sort of unspoken thing is going on, as Eren and his assistant stare at each other. Eren’s gaze is searching, and Ymir’s expression slowly drops.

“We need to talk, don’t we?” she murmurs.

“Yes,” Eren says, and Levi is perturbed by the raw thread of anger in his voice. “I’d say so.”

“Now wait—”

“It’s okay, Levi,” Ymir interrupts. “Could you leave us alone, please?”

Levi stops fiddling with the stove. He glances at his lead pipe again. Ymir still hasn’t told him who Eren is, and from the way his sweat-dampened shirt is clinging to some rather solid looking muscles, Levi isn’t at all sure leaving them alone is a good idea.

Still, Eren had been sitting outside his warehouse all day, and if anything Ymir seems bizarrely fond of him. Maternal, even. While his assistant has kept her cards close to her chest for much of the time he’s known her, she could have easily told him if she considered Eren a danger while he was unconscious.

“Are you sure?” he says.

Ymir flaps her hand at him. “Go to the Seadog. I’ll lock up and see you there in a bit.”

Levi leaves the stove on his desk, grabs the lead pipe, and marches over to the rattan sofa. He shoves it at Ymir, and glances down at Eren. “If he tries anything, use this. And if you’re not with us in an hour I _am_ bringing backup.”

She takes the pipe. “Okay! Now shoo!”

Levi fetches his wax coat and stomps out, conscious of Eren's piercing gaze, which he feels right between his shoulder blades.

Is this a mistake?

He can’t work out whether he wants to know more about this Eren, or run as far away as possible.

Maybe both.

 

Eren watches Levi’s retreating back. The warehouse door slams shut, and he is left with Ymir.

After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, she says, “Eren. Are you okay?”

Her tone is sincere enough, this woman from another world, from a waking dream, but it fails to settle him. “I don’t know,” he replies.

She offers him more water, but he just wants to get up. He feels too vulnerable lying down, not to mention humiliated. He fainted! He may as well be fifteen again, watching Humanity’s Strongest Soldier ride through the streets of Trost.

Ymir tries to help him when he moves to get up, but he shrugs her off. He ends up with his elbows resting on his knees, and gripping his head in his hands. He can feel the beginnings of a pounding headache, and reaches for the glass of water.

“So,” he says after a sip. “You’re… here.”

“Yes.” Ymir puts her hands in her lap and waits calmly.

She’s the same but not the same. When he saw her last, on a starlit beach with sparkling white sand and the heavens vast around them, she had claimed not to be a goddess, but she sure did look like one anyway. Before that, when he found her in the woods, she was just a girl wearing rags with dirty tear-tracks on her cheeks, about to make a wish that would change the course of history.

Now here she is. Her clothes are clearly work clothes, light and practical for the climate of Slava, and she looks… more real. Tangible. Faint crow’s lines mark the corners of her eyes, and there’s a gap between her two front teeth which he hadn’t noticed before. She looks like she’s a part of this world, as real as he is.

“How?” he asks.

She swallows and glances around the office. “I… I made another wish.” Ymir screws her eyes shut, and Eren is reminded of the little girl he terrified long ago.

He sighs and leans back against the sofa. It sags, old and threadbare. He takes a sip of his water, and tries not to shout. “You made another wish. After everything I showed you.” He’s not entirely surprised; this is the person who wished the titans into existence, after all.

“Eren.” Her voice wobbles. “It wasn’t like before. I didn’t make it in anger this time. It was a wish of love, not a wish of hatred or fear.”

“What did you wish for?”

She doesn’t answer. Not for long seconds. He waits, holding his breath, fighting the urge to get up and pace.

Just as he’s about to snap, Ymir says, “I wished for Levi to be happy.”

Eren closes his eyes. “ _What?_ ”

Ymir starts babbling. “You see, he meant so much to you, I saw it in your memories, the ones you showed me. I remember it so clearly. Everything was wrong in your world, but he was always there. And he was so sad, and you hated how sad he was, and Eren you were _so_ brave. I took so much from you. And when I couldn’t stand it anymore, when I couldn’t stay in my time, I realised I wanted to help you. I wanted to—”

“What do you mean you couldn’t stay?”

She abruptly clams up. There is a sudden spark of pain in her silvery eyes, which are really just a light blue now he can see them in reality. “Not everything wrong in the world was caused by titans, Eren.”

Eren lets out a shaky breath. He feels slightly sick. “But you made a wish about _Levi_. To the _devil.”_

“It was a good wish,” she replies quietly.

Eren peers around again. The shelves of Levi’s office are cluttered with a jumbled assortment of teapots and teacups, their delicate painted colours in clashing disarray. The Levi of this new world is… untidy. Eren rubs his forehead. “So why are _you_ here?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Fucking hell.”

“I mean, I do,” Ymir says in a rush. She gets up and starts to pace, her fingers fluttering in frantic gestures. “After the wish I… I fell asleep. And when I woke up, I was covered in soil, and tree roots had grown over my legs. When I got free I just kept walking, and the next thing I knew I was on a dock, and there was this ship with _Ackerman’s China_ written on it, and I knew where I was supposed to be.”

There is a part of Eren that wants to feel bad, is dimly aware of himself laying all his frustrations and fears and aching trauma squarely at Ymir’s feet, as he had done in a woodland two thousand years ago when she was but a girl, and he knows, he _knows_ it is unfair of him. She looks like she’s about to cry, nothing like the goddess of the Paths, the one who had told him to be strong, that this burden will be his. This Ymir, with her hair falling out of its ponytail and her dust-stained shirt and her fluttering hands, looks painfully human.

Yet Eren cannot prevent the words from spilling out of his mouth. “What have you done?” he whispers. “What have you _done?_ ”

Ymir stops her pacing, her expression tightening. “I wished for Levi to be _happy_.”

“He has a scar on his face!” Eren snaps, pushing himself off the sagging sofa. “Kenny fucking Ackerman is trying to steal his livelihood!”

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s how I found him! I read the legal records. Levi is not okay, Ymir!”

“Eren, Eren.” Ymir puts her hands up as if he’s a child. “Wait. Wait, stop-- please, stop shouting.”

He steps closer, into her personal space. “What have you _done_ to him?!”

“Eren, Levi is fine!” She pushes against his chest. “He’s _fine!_ ”

Eren blinks, becoming aware of himself.

Ymir leans back, away from his looming figure. She is not a short woman, both of them are at least a head taller than Levi, but Eren has deliberately crowded her. He steps back.

“That’s why I’m here,” Ymir says, voice unsteady. “I’m making _sure_ he’s fine.”

Eren leans heavily against Levi’s desk, sparing only a brief thought for the layer of dust that had been disturbed earlier in the search for the oil-powered stove. “Then why is he scarred?” Eren mutters.

“Oh.” Ymir joins him in leaning against the desk. After a hesitant pause, she puts her hand on his arm. “I’m really not sure he’d like me telling you but, well, alright. It was an accident when he was a baby. Kuchel was feeding him, and apparently he threw a tantrum and used his head to smash the bowl.”

Eren doesn’t know what to say.

Mistaking his silence for confusion, Ymir says, “It was just an accident, Eren.”

“Who is Kuchel?”

Now it is Ymir’s turn to sound surprised. “You don’t know?”

Eren wraps his arms around himself. Why would he know? He doesn’t know _anything_.

Ymir squeezes his arm, and in a soft voice she says, “Kuchel is Levi’s mother.”

For long moments Eren does not know how to process those words. The thud of his heart behind his ribcage, the lurch in his stomach of pure shock. He doesn’t— he _can’t_ —

Levi has a mother.

It hits Eren hard. The old Levi was often a closed book when it came to his life before the Survey Corps, but he did once tell Eren this: he lost his mother young, just like Eren. Levi told Eren he understood, and it was okay.

It was okay to always miss her. It was okay to still be angry.

In the world before, losing family was something that united them all. Not just Levi and Eren, but Mikasa and Armin and Historia and Connie… in that world, those you loved died.

In this world, they don't.

And Eren is the only person who can never have his family back.

_This burden will ever be yours to carry, Eren. I am sorry, that this falls to you. More than you can know._

He stares at Ymir.

It is occurring to Eren that he rushed down here – hundreds and hundreds of miles – a little hastily. Levi’s business does not appear to be on the verge of being snatched away from him, Kenny is not some monster – “No, no, he’s just trying to prove some silly point,” Ymir assures him with a weary sigh – and Levi has a mother.

Lives with her, even.

“Oh yes,” Ymir says. “Their place is lovely. Up on the hill, just outside of the city. It’s particularly charming in the spring, when the south-westerlies start to blow.”

When Eren runs out of things to fret over, Ymir finally asks him about himself.

It is the first time in two years he's been able to tell the truth.

So he tells her how he woke up in Liberio where the battle had been, and describes his first meeting with Farlan. Tells her the stories of his apprenticeship.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, Eren,” she says, stroking his hair. “I tried to look for you, but the records are _terrible_. The wings were sort of a… last ditch attempt. I remembered them from your memories.”

“Tell me about it,” Eren replies, thinking of the year it took to find just two people.

“Would you… like to come to the Seadog with me?” Ymir asks, tentatively.

“Yes,” Eren replies. “I would.”

 

The broiling heat of the day has yet to truly subside, so Eren carries his frock coat, even as Ymir wraps herself up in a wax jacket. She locks the warehouse up with bolts and chains, and then leads them briskly in the direction of the harbour. On the walk they manage to cook up a story about being old colleagues.

Eventually Eren asks, “So the wings of freedom was you?”

Ymir gives him a quizzical look, but nods.

“Then Levi doesn’t remember a thing,” he concludes.

“Oh, Eren. Is that what you thought? I’m… I’m so sorry.” She touches his arm again.

Eren takes a deep breath, and shrugs off his disappointment. In the harbour, beyond the warehouse rooftops, moonlight is glinting off a great mass of sails, and lanterns swing from every tavern doorway. He should be happy Levi has found a place here, has grown up with a mother.

He _is_ happy, Eren tells himself firmly.

So why doesn’t he leave? Part of him is desperate to, part of him knows he should. Yet he cannot shake his curiosity, feels caught in Levi’s orbit. Perhaps he always has been.

The ‘Seadog’ turns out to be _The Seadog at Anchor_ , one of many rickety looking taverns tucked in between the warehouses of the docks. The hazy glow of whale-oil lamps, tobacco smoke, and the twangy sound of an accordion spill out of the open doorway onto the wooden slats beyond. The tavern is right on the sea front, jutting out over the harbour, and the gentle wash of evening-black water can be heard under the wooden boards beneath their feet.

The tavern sounds crowded, a polyglot hum of languages emerging from the door. Ymir pushes her way through, disappearing inside the smoky haze of the tavern.

Eren lingers behind as the door swings shut, faltering in the shadows.  _As much as you can, choose whatever you'll regret the least._ “Damn it, it’s alright to just be curious,” he reminds himself, and follows her in.

He takes a deep breath to fortify his nerves, sucks in a lungful of tobacco smoke, and ends up coughing his guts up as he stumbles to the bar. Levi and Ymir are both perched on bar stools, and Eren can feel them watching him.

“Yes, um, don’t breathe too deep,” Ymir says, and gives him a good thump between his shoulder blades.

“Thanks,” he gasps.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Levi smirk. Great. Eren can only imagine what he and all the other Slava traders and itinerant sailors are thinking, as he subtly tries to use his cravat to wipe the tears from his eyes. He looks like a soft city boy, and he’s acting like one too. He fainted! In front of Levi!

Ugh.

“I’m a blacksmith,” Eren blurts out.

Levi pauses, halfway through raising a tankard of some frothy looking liquid to his lips. He glances down, as if the terrible ale will provide an explanation for Eren’s complete non sequitur. “That’s... interesting?”

Eren’s cheeks burn. “I just mean… I didn’t want you to think… I’m not…” He looks down at his soft wool trousers, fine shirt, the silk frock coat tucked beneath his arm, all distinctly dustier than they were when he stepped off the train that morning. “I’m not some soft city idiot.”

Levi plonks the ale down on the bar and crosses his arms. “I didn’t say you were.”

“You thought I was—”

“A hooker?” Levi shrugs. “What? You’re pretty enough to be one.”

Eren’s mouth drops open.

Levi leans back and jabs his elbow into the ribcage of a salty-looking seadog who has a crusty baguette in his hands and a pipe hanging from his lips. He raises an eyebrow at Levi.

“Hey Ishmael." Levi makes a vague gesture at Eren. "Would you pay for a night with this?”

The sailor cocks his head to one side, gaze raking over Eren’s body. “He for sale?” he asks around the pipe.

Levi leans in, as if the two of them are sharing a private joke. There is an odd little smile on Levi's face as he says, “Not sure yet.”

Eren fidgets under their exaggerated lascivious looks. This is… _not_ Levi.

“I’m—I’m not for _sale._ ” Eren struggles to get the words out, mortified.

The sailor bursts out laughing, catching his pipe as he does so, and claps Levi on the shoulder. “Oh little Ackerman, who’s this?”

Levi smiles, soft and amused. “You know what?” He takes a swig of ale. “I have no idea.”

“We used to work together,” Ymir announces from behind Eren, where she is getting drinks for them both.

“They used to work together,” Levi repeats. “Apparently.”

The incongruous sight of Levi in his dusty embroidered shirt, grinning knowingly and leaning against the grizzled seadog, is almost too much. The way the scar tugs tight as his eyes crinkle up with a smile, the relaxed slouch of his body, the slight bloodshot in his eyes from the smoke and fatigue. It’s… well, it’s frustratingly sexy, but also discomfiting. There is a light dusting of grey in his dark hair, just like in the world before, and it’s as if a ghost is hovering between them, the ghost of a Levi long gone.

After a few seconds, Levi breaks the stare and shakes his head. “Ishmael, this is Eren. Eren, Ishmael is the Captain of our newest ship, _The Wings of Freedom_. Your old _colleague_ named her.”

Eren turns to stare at Ymir.

She gives him a sheepish look. “Our other ship is _Kuchel_ ,” she says. “But that’s stuck in Hizuru at the moment, what with all the political upheaval.”

“Bloody freedom fighters,” Ishmael grumbles. “That idiot mayor in Liberio has a lot to answer for.”

“Eh.” Levi shrugs. “He’s got a point. Even if he is bad for business.”

“By all the sea gods, if Kenny heard you say that—”

“Fortunately Kenny is _also_ stuck in Hizuru.”

“And long may the political deadlock reign!” Ymir says brightly.

Levi snorts, and they reach around Eren to tap their tankards together. Aside from the strangeness of hearing Levi casually discussing Erwin’s politics, Eren feels himself start to relax. He’s unsure if it’s the low hum of noise, the slow sea shanty the accordion is creaking out, or the drugging effect of the tobacco smoke, but he finally reaches for his own ale and levers himself onto a bar stool.

He eyes the large baguette Ishmael is tucking into.

“When did you last eat, kid?” Levi asks.

Eren frowns, trying to remember.

“Save me from these waifs and strays,” Levi mutters under his breath. Then he raps his knuckles against the aged wood of the bar, and shouts for food.

“I think he likes this one!” Ishmael comments in his booming voice, drawing the attention of half the tavern.

“I think you may be right,” Ymir replies.

Eren refuses to look at Levi, and tries to lose himself in his pint.

 

Eren’s feet are sore and the boarding house is dark by the time he gets back. He lets himself into his room, the weight of the day pressing down on him in a sudden onset of exhaustion. His room smells musty and unused, and his set of journals – old alongside new – sit on the desk in the corner, looking lonely. He reminds himself to write a letter to Farlan in the morning.

He hangs up his frock coat in the closet, then strips off the rest of his clothes. His instinct is to push them into a corner to worry about the following day, as he’s always done, but tonight he cannot prevent the twitch in his fingers that itches to fold them neatly and place them over the back of the chair.

In the darkness of his room, with no witnesses, he proceeds to do so.

There’s no earthly reason why he should feel so guilty, as if he’s letting the old Levi down by not ensuring that at least something in the world is neat and tidy, but he does.

 _Levi is dead,_ he reminds himself. _You have to let go._

Eren places the trousers and shirt over the chair, and gets into bed. It’s far too sticky and hot under the blankets, so he throws them off and lies there naked and troubled, staring at the ceiling as if it will offer him answers.

The evening had been pleasant, in the end. A little awkward – mostly Eren’s fault – but the more time had worn on, the more he’d relaxed. Levi, Ymir, and Ishmael had taken turns telling him about _Ackerman’s China_. Watching Levi get drunker and less coherent as the evening progressed had been… an experience. And Eren still wasn’t any the wiser as to the nuances of the fine bone china import business. They all joked – _joked!_ – about Kenny’s regular lawsuits to gain control of the business. “It’s just a thing we do,” Levi had mused, seeming unperturbed.

Levi is okay. It is abundantly clear to Eren, despite his scar and his uncle, that Levi is okay.

There’s really no reason to stay now. Except for Ymir, who had even invited him to spend the following day down at the warehouse. And that blasted wish.

Eren sighs. How can he undo something that happened two thousand years ago? _Should_ he? It’s not like he’s special anymore. He’s just Eren now.

His thoughts go round in circles and no answers seem forthcoming. If he’s truly honest, he knows why he’s here. He knows what’s driving him. _Unfinished business_. That is what Eren feels when he thinks of Levi. It’s wrong, he knows it’s wrong. Eren stares at a crack in the ceiling, a deep fissure that dissects the stucco.

It reminds him of the scar on Levi’s face, a scar which whispers, _“He’s not your Levi anymore.”_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note. I'm sorry this is proving to be a little slow going in terms of updates. It's the middle of the semester, so things are quite busy for me in real life. Hopefully after May/June, I will be able to pick up the pace! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you everyone for the comments and feedback so far, it really means a lot :)

_The World Before_

 

The salty air of the ocean has left Eren’s lips and throat dry these last few days, but even that cannot compare to the sight of Levi finally taking his horse for a canter through the foamy wash of the outgoing tide, and the way it makes Eren feel as if he’ll never generate spit again.

Levi’s cloak flies about in the wind, forest green against sky blue, and the splash from his horse’s hooves reflects the sunlight. Levi’s powerful thigh muscles tense up as he directs his horse through the waves. He looks peaceful, focused.

Eren closes his eyes and grimaces. It’s time to admit it. This is becoming a problem.

He joins Mikasa and Armin on a grassy sand dune, flops down between them, and says, “I need to tell you something.”

Armin puts down the sea shell he was examining. “Is it about Captain Levi?”

“Wh-what?” Eren splutters.

“Well, you’re pretty obvious, Eren.”

Eren groans at the cloudless sky. This has been happening more and more lately, Levi intruding upon his consciousness in new and confusing ways. Eren has never had a crush before, but he’s pretty sure that is what he’s developing. A big fat crush. In some ways, it is a welcome bit of light in the darkness of his thoughts, but mostly Eren is frustrated. Levi is the _least_ appropriate person his subconscious could have landed upon.

“He does tend to single you out a lot,” Armin says speculatively. “I suppose it’s understandable that you’ve developed romantic feelings for him.”

Eren groans again. Fuck, he has romantic feelings for Captain Levi.

He glances at Mikasa out the corner of his eye, curious about her opinion. She has that distant, pensive expression she sometimes gets. All three of them turn their heads at the sound of cantering hooves on wet sand, as Levi makes his way back down the beach, perhaps even a little flashily, if you knew how he normally rode. The way Eren’s cheeks heat up at the sight is inexcusable, and he can feel Armin gazing at him in consideration.

“What do I do?” he asks helplessly.

“Maybe you should tell him,” Armin suggests.

“Are you joking?”

“No. Captain Levi respects you, and he’ll give you an honest answer. Then either way you can move on.”

“Huh.” Eren squints down the beach, to where Levi has pulled up his horse to say something to Commander Hange. A part of him does find the idea of tackling his crush head on appealing. After all, they’d managed to get past what happened in Shiganshina, so they can get through this, right? Even if it’s a no… well, it probably _will_ be a no. Eren sighs, because that’s the problem, really.

He’s not sure he’s ready to let go of the fantasy of Levi saying yes.

“It’s not as simple as that,” Mikasa says.

They both turn to peer at her.

“What do you mean?” Armin asks, at the same time Eren demands, “Why not?”

Mikasa is watching Levi down the beach, her dark eyes unreadable. The steady wash of the tide, the distant cawing of sea birds, and the rustle of the grass of the dune is at odds with the skittering of Eren’s heart. He doesn’t want to have a fight with Mikasa, not about Levi. Not another one, anyway. The ocean is too peaceful for that, even if it is little more than a temporary illusion they are all allowing themselves.

“I don’t think you should put him on the spot.” Mikasa fiddles with her scarf. “He won’t be able to give you the answer you want.”

“But—”

“Eren, he’s not—I’m not sure he is comfortable with that kind of relationship. Can’t you tell?”

Eren looks at her, than back at Levi.

“I think he’s been through a lot,” she says quietly.

“I don’t agree with you,” Armin replies.

Eren doesn’t really understand, but he’s learning not to discount Mikasa’s intuition. Something had changed between them too, after Shiganshina. A deeper, calmer understanding was taking root, slowly twining itself around Eren’s heart and smothering the old frustrations.

He closes his eyes and tunes out the debate, reminds himself that there are bigger things to worry about than a crush. If it wasn’t for Levi choosing to spend time with him, this wouldn’t even be a problem. But Eren is hardly going to put a stop to that. Even an idiot can see that Levi is lonely, and misses the old commander deeply. He doesn’t really understand what they were to each other, but Eren must take at least some responsibility for Levi’s loneliness, and if friendship is what he’s seeking, then Eren won’t deny him.

Even if it does make his stomach twist into inconvenient knots every time Levi so much as breathes in his general direction.

Ugh.

His friends’ idle chatter abruptly halts, and seconds later Eren senses a shadow fall over him, blocking out the sunlight. He opens his eyes; of course it is Levi.

“Eren,” he says, cloak fluttering. “We need to scout a suitable location on the coast for a permanent lookout. Come on.”

He marches off towards the tethered horses without a backwards glance.

Eren gets up, dusts off his pants, and shoots his friends a mildly despairing look. Armin smiles sympathetically, and Mikasa tucks her chin further into her scarf.

 

~

 

Eren puts down his journal. What wouldn’t he give to have Armin and Mikasa here right now?

The bright Slava sun is streaming into his bedroom at the boarding house. He’d gotten up early to write to Farlan and the secretary at the court records office, then realised he still wasn’t sure if he should hop back on the next train to Liberio or not.

_What are you looking for, Eren? Levi doesn’t remember you. And you shouldn’t want him to. Stop this._

All those fond memories. Were they still real if they existed now only in his heart? They had ridden for hours, the two of them, idly chatting about the threat beyond the ocean, whether or not they could use the coastal cliffs to their advantage, even joking about pushing various members of the military police off of them.

_And your crush never went away, did it? You idiot._

Eren’s forehead drops to the desk. Maybe he’ll just visit the warehouse today, then politely say his goodbyes. Tuck tail and run back to Farlan, back to life as a blacksmith. Maybe this whole finding people from the past thing was a terrible idea after all.

He’s saved any further self-flagellation by a knock on his bedroom door.

“Good morning,” Ymir says brightly, proffering a basket of fruits. “I brought breakfast!”

Eren peers beyond her in confusion. “How did you get up here?”

“I bribed the owner.”

“You what?” Maybe Eren should find another boarding house.

“With fruit.”

“Oh.”

Ymir slides past him and sets the fruit on the desk. She glances at his journal, then smiles and holds out an orange. Eren shuts the door and leans against it, a little flustered. Due to the heat, dry and punishing even this early, he’s only in his underwear. The situation reminds him of the wood and the ocean, of the hazy dream they shared in the Paths, when their clothes had mysteriously blown away. Only this time it’s not a dream, and he feels a bit like he’s naked in front of his own mother.

“I should, uh—” he gestures to himself awkwardly.

Ymir laughs, then walks over and presses the orange into his palm. “Eren, my tribe wore a _lot_ less than you’re wearing right now. In fact, it took me a long time to get used to wearing clothes.” She closes his fingers around the orange. “I was entirely naked when Levi found me hiding in the spare rigging on the _Kuchel_ , and I didn’t even think to be embarrassed about it.”

“Why him?” Eren asks after a moment. “Why Levi? Why not Mikasa, or Armin? I showed you all my memories, right?”

Ymir grimaces. “I remember. You weren’t exactly gentle when our minds connected, you know.”

“I was in the middle of a battle. I’d just seen my best friend die.”

“I know. I understand.” Ymir smooths her palms over the front of her light cotton shorts, then goes to sit on the bed. “Eat your orange,” she says.

Eren joins her and begins fiddling with the peel, trying to be patient. For all that he had shown up in her world, two thousand years separating his experiences from hers, the exchange really had been rather one sided. What damage had he wrought on her young mind, forcing such knowledge upon her without asking? And in the Paths, that strange ethereal connection of deep wooded silence and starlit ocean waves they had shared as the world reordered itself, she had told him that her world was not better. Yesterday, she had told him that not everything wrong in the world was caused by titans.

Eren’s choices had hurt Ymir, he’s beginning to realise, just as much as hers from two thousand years ago had hurt him.

“There was… a pain in your heart.” Ymir touches her chest tentatively. “Like a wound. When you thought of him. With Armin and Mikasa, you had faith that they would be alright, your faith in them was so strong. With Levi, you just wanted to protect him. You had faith in him too, but it was different. I couldn’t get it out of my head. But Eren, if you want to find them, I will help you.”

“You will?”

“Of course!” Ymir pats his knee. “I know I wished for Levi to be happy, but really I made that wish for you. I thought it was what you would wish for. If you could.”

Eren closes his eyes. He could cry, except his tears dried up long ago. He misses Armin and Mikasa so much. He’ll find them, one day. But perhaps Ymir is right... perhaps he would have chosen Levi to be happy.

“I almost expected you to be gone,” she says.

“I almost was,” he admits.

“Well then, I’m glad I brought oranges.”

“You’re using my own memories against me,” he replies. “Aren’t you?”

She pats his knee again. “If it gets you to stay, yes.”

Slava is just as busy as it was the previous day. Eren has put on the lightest clothes he brought with him – a thin silk shirt and a pair of cotton sleep pants. He looks a bit ridiculous and it’s _still_ sweltering.

They wind their way through the districts of Slava, sprawling down the hillside from the ruined fort to the sparkling eastern sea. The cloth markets – “thank fuck,” Eren mutters, and buys himself some looser local clothing – followed by the grand exchange house, the spice markets, the fruit markets, and finally the stinkier fish markets. Ymir stops here and picks up a brace of pre-smoked mackerel to bring down to the warehouse for lunch.

“You like it here,” Eren remarks, as she deftly haggles and exchanges coin.

Ymir swipes her hair out of her eyes, mussing up her ponytail. “Do you have any idea how convenient the world is now? Smoked fish! Ready to eat. I still can’t get over it.”

Eren peppers her with more questions on the way to the warehouse district and the docks, trying to work out what magic they wrought in the world between them.

“You looked so different in the Paths,” he says.

“So did you! You’re much cuter than I remember.”

Eren groans. “I’m twenty two.”

“That’s cute from where I’m standing. I suppose the Paths were a… representation of our inner selves? Our souls, maybe.”

“Maybe.”

Eren gets nervous again as he spies the corrugated tin rooftops and the wooden clapboarding of the warehouses, the seagulls swooping over the tumbledown district like feathered guardians. They stop at the warehouse first, and take the smoked mackerel, carefully wrapped in waxed brown paper and hessian, into Levi’s office.

“Where is Levi?” Eren asks.

“Oh, he’ll be down at the docks, we still haven’t finished inventory on the latest cargo. That’s why all the warehouse shelves are so empty.” Ymir squints though the cracked glass that separates the office from the larger warehouse. “We really should have gotten them fixed up before _The Wings of Freedom_ returned.”

Eren privately agrees that the warehouse is a bit… rickety. He has a pretty vivid picture in his head of what the old Levi would say and do if he saw it.

After dropping off the mackerel, and Eren dashing into the privy to change into his new clothes, Ymir takes him down to the docks. In the early morning sunshine, Eren gets his first look at _The Wings of Freedom._ Ymir is busy explaining to him the ship’s innovative “screw propulsion” system, but all Eren can see is wings. The ship’s flag, flying from the tallest mast, has the wings of freedom logo embroidered upon it, and that same logo has been painted beside the cursive script of _Ackerman’s China_ on the side of the ship. There is even something wing-like in the shape of the sails and the interlocking lines of rigging. It’s a ship made of wings.

“Steam power has really revolutionised shipping these last few decades!” Ymir is saying.

Eren glances at Ymir and back to the sails. “This is a steam ship?”

“Yes!” She points to a funnel tucked between the four masts, tiny in comparison. “See? It can make the return trip to Hizuru in less than two months, it’s really something! Nowhere near as advanced as the big shipping magnates—” she points at the enormous iron-hulled monsters further down the docks “—but not bad for _Ackerman’s China_ . Ishmael’s better at explaining how it all works. It’s much more advanced than _Kuchel_ , but - and god don’t tell Levi I said this - Kenny is pretty good with that old bucket of nails.”

Eren shakes his head. Kenny Ackerman the sea captain.

They can hear Ishmael’s booming voice as they make their way up the wobbly gangplank onto the deck. Eren spots Levi immediately, where he is busy patching up sails. Eren’s heart _ba-thumps_ at the sight, transported to former times. Levi glances up at their arrival, and tosses the sails messily to one side. So much for—

Levi lifts his shirt to wipe sweat from his brow.

Eren blushes and turns away.

“Lovely sight, isn’t it?” Levi says.

Eren blinks. “What?”

“My ship. _The Wings of Freedom_.”

“Oh. Yes.” Eren fiddles with the slightly scratchy linen of his new embroidered shirt. “I don’t really know much about boats.”

“Did he just call it a _boat?_ ” Ishmael booms from up by the ship’s wheel. “You send him up here, little Ackerman!”

“Ha!” Levi says. “I thought you’d make it longer than a minute.”

“What?” Eren says again.

“Up you go.” Levi waves him off and returns to his stitching. “Good luck.”

Eren makes his way up to where Ishmael is, dodging various crew members that are carrying crates, winding up rigging, and mopping the wooden deck. The ship is in considerably better condition than Levi’s warehouse. On the way he passes Ymir; she tells him they’ll see him back at the warehouse and, ominously, also wishes him good luck.

Ishmael claps an enormous arm around his shoulders. “Now, young Eren,” he says. “Let me tell you about _The Wings of Freedom_.”

When Ishmael walks him back to the warehouse four hours later, Eren’s mouth is watering for smoked mackerel. Ishmael is telling him about the time they got caught in a squall off the northern shoals of Paradis – “blighter of an island, that one” – and Eren hopes to escape into the office with the excuse of seeking food.

He’s a little surprised to see Ymir and Levi engaged in a pretty heated discussion. When Ymir jabs her finger in Levi’s face, wagging it like a frustrated mother, Eren sighs and resigns himself to an empty stomach, and more of Ishmael’s stories.

 

“Ask him to stay,” Ymir demands.

Levi throws his hands up. “Why me? You’re the one who knows him.”

“That’s exactly why he won’t.”

“Well then he doesn’t stay!” Levi says in frustration. “Why do you care so much? Let him go back to his blacksmithing in Marley. He seems fine. We have a telephone connected now, you can keep in touch.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Tell me _why_ it isn’t that simple.”

“Ugh!” Ymir spins round and shoves her hands on her hips, blowing her fringe out of her eyes.

Levi scratches at his scar. It always itches when he gets annoyed. It’s not that he minds Eren sticking around, especially if the kid needs help, but for some blasted reason his assistant is determined Levi should be the instigator of asking Eren to stay.

“I’m just trying to understand,” he says. He likes Ymir an awful lot, and he doesn’t particularly want to upset her. His mother likes Ymir too, and he _really_ doesn’t want to upset _her_. He’ll never hear the last of it.

“You took me in with no questions asked,” she says quietly. “Why is this different?”

Levi runs his fingertip along one of the shelves, making patterns in the thin layer of dust. “Of course it’s fucking different. Eren didn’t show up naked on one of my ships, for a start.”

“It doesn’t mean he’s not in trouble.”

Levi glances out of the cracked glass pane that separates his office from the rest of the warehouse. Eren is nodding along diligently to whatever idiotic story Ishmael is regaling him with, no doubt most of it embellished. Next thing he knows, he’ll be getting questions about mermaids and man-eating giants.

Levi sighs. Ah, who is he kidding? He’s always been a bit of a soft touch. If he can put up with Kenny all these years and still employ him, he can handle some cute friend of Ymir’s with a mysterious past. “Fine,” he groans. “Send him in.”

Ymir bends down and kisses his cheek. “Thank you, Levi.”

“Alright, alright.”

Levi flicks the portable stove on and puts the kettle on to boil, and when Eren clears his throat behind him, he says, “Tea?”

He peers over his shoulder, to find Eren looking at him strangely. If it wasn’t for the sketchy lighting in the warehouse, he’d almost say he’d gone a little pale.

“Are you deaf?” he hears himself asking, rudely. Inwardly, he winces. He can’t pinpoint whatever it is about Eren that makes his stomach churn, but all his senses are prickling with unease. If he’s in trouble, well, Levi will help. He just hopes that trouble doesn’t chase him here, and affect Levi’s livelihood too, and those he cares about.

“I’m sorry.” Eren visibly swallows. “Yes, tea would be nice. Thank you.”

Levi rolls his eyes at the forced politeness. He’d prefer Eren relaxed and even laughing occasionally like last night, after he’d gotten a few drinks down his throat. Or even blushing, like when he’d caught a glimpse of Levi’s bare stomach earlier. That hadn’t been too bad, Levi supposes.

This excruciatingly cautious, haunted young man that Eren seems to be a good eighty percent of the time? The one that makes Levi nervous, almost afraid? This Eren, he is not particularly fond of.

But he said he’d help. He hands Eren his chipped cup of tea and says, casually, “I’ve been thinking of doing up the warehouse. Installing new shelving units, fixing the glass, sorting out the plumbing, that sort of thing.”

“Okay,” Eren says, apparently clueless.

“I imagine as a blacksmith you’re quite handy,” Levi prompts.

“I suppose so—oh. Oh!” Eren stares at him, wide-eyed. “You want _me_ to do it?”

“The pay wouldn’t be very good.” Levi rustles some paper, wondering where he put all his pens. “We’re only just beginning to expand. My grandfather left the business in a bit of a mess, as you can probably tell—” he gestures at the dismal state of his office “—but the occupation of Hizuru has been good for us these last few years, meddling politicians notwithstanding, and we’ve been getting excellent rates on our imports.” Eren is beginning to look befuddled, so Levi changes tack. “Anyway, seems like you’re here without much to do, so unless you have some pressing need to get back to Liberio, job’s yours if you want it.”

“You’d pay me?”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

“Okay,” Eren says in a rush. “Yes. Yes, I can do that. I can help.”

Levi raises an eyebrow at the sudden enthusiasm. “Alright then.” He takes a sip of his tea. “Don’t suppose you have a pen?” Eren passes one from his pocket, and Levi begins drafting up a contract of employment. “You can sit down, by the way. This might take a while.”

Eren takes a seat on the rattan sofa, and for a while the office is quiet save for the scratching of the pen against yellowing paper. Levi wonders why he was born such a pushover. He blames his mother, mostly. She’s too nice.

“You’re a good person,” Eren says abruptly.

“What?”

“Well.” He toys with the tattered rattan of the sofa. “You helped Ymir. You’re still employing your uncle. Ishmael said you took him on when he couldn’t get work because of his drinking problem. You… you’re helping me. You’re a good person.” He says it like he’s trying to reassure himself.

Levi shifts on the uncomfortable wood of his chair. “Don’t get all sappy,” he replies, awkwardly. “I’m mostly keeping you around for your nice ass.”

Eren chokes on his tea.

“That was a joke,” Levi points out after a moment.

“R-right.” Eren thumps his chest. “I knew that. Y-your sense of humour is still terrible.”

Levi goes back to the contract, trying to remember the correct legal terminology for all this. Then he frowns. “Still?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he registers Eren go tense. The hairs on the back of Levi’s neck stand up. He puts down the pen, nudging it to one side so he can cross his arms and rest them on the desk. He stares at Eren, and Eren stares at the floor.

“Ymir says I can trust you,” Levi says. “And I trust Ymir. But I won’t pretend you don’t confuse the fuck out of me. If I find out that you’re playing us, well—” he glances at his lead pipe, propped in the corner. “I know how to use that.”

Unexpectedly, Eren lets out a short laugh. “No you don’t,” he says.

Levi blinks.

Eren shakes his head. “If you must know, I used to be in the military. Before I was a blacksmith. And you don’t have a clue how to use a weapon. You’d probably break your wrist trying to hit me with that thing.”

Mortifyingly, Levi can feel his cheeks going red. He has half a mind to turf Eren out, upset assistant be damned.

“I can teach you,” Eren says, a little quieter. “If you want. But you’d probably be better with a knife.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s smaller.”

Levi jerks back in his chair. Now he’s _really_ going to throw Eren out—

“And faster.” Eren shrugs. “Like you could be. If you wanted to.”

Levi wills himself to relax. Eren is… a very strange kid. Young man, whatever. How the fuck old was he anyway when he joined the military? He cannot be from Marley, if that’s the case. But there are some distant places in the world that use child soldiers. Ymir has always had a bit of a strange accent. Maybe both of them are from distant lands.

He can feel Eren’s gaze raking over his face, lingering occasionally on his scar, which he’s too used to to be offended by. Levi rubs at it, feeling unbalanced. “She said you were in trouble,” he mutters.

After a moment, Eren says, “It’s complicated.”

“So I’ve heard.”

They stare at each other. It is Eren that backs down, in the end. Averts his gaze, looks troubled. Whatever it is… all this secrecy, evasiveness, abrupt mood changes, it’s surely all connected. _He’s not okay_ , Levi realises, in a moment of clarity. His problem is coming from the inside, rather than the outside. Just like Ymir’s was, those first few months. Whatever has happened to them, it is a thing they share. A trauma, perhaps.

Levi feels himself softening, just a little. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” he offers, keeping his attention on the rudimentary contract and avoiding Eren’s gaze. “Learning to defend the warehouse.”

“Really?”

Levi shrugs. “Really.”

 

As they lock up the warehouse that night, Levi listens absently as Ymir asks Eren if he’s coming to the Seadog again. It’s their routine, and Eren seemed to have a pleasant time last night, so Levi is a little surprised when he declines. He catches Eren’s eye as he says, “Actually, I have some letters to write. People I need to tell I’m staying for a while.”

“Maybe tomorrow then?” Ymir suggests.

Eren nods, then glances at Levi again, almost shyly. “Sure. Tomorrow would be nice.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks off, a small bounce in his step.

Levi watches him go, and he can feel Ymir’s eyes on him.

“Shut up,” he mutters.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, it's been a while! The good news is, I have finished the academic year now, and so I have much more time to work on Dreamwork. Thank you for being patient, and I look forward to getting this story rolling again! Thanks also to [thisgirlsays22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisgirlsays22/pseuds/thisgirlsays22) for your continuing support <3

“You should take her up on the offer, you know,” Levi says from the foot of the ladder, waiting for the next box of old china. “That boarding house is extorting you.”

Eren wipes the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and peers down from his perch at the top. Levi’s cheeks are flushed with exertion, and the scar tissue around his eye a stark white from this distance. “I dunno,” Eren replies. “Is there such a thing as death-by-mothering?”

Levi chuckles. “I’ll be sure to put some flowers on your grave.”

Eren tries to ignore the way the way they both fumble with the box as he passes it down. He’s been fighting blushes all day.

A week after Levi proposed the warehouse renovation project, they are finally starting to make a dent in the clutter. It’s a laborious process. _The Wings of Freedom_ has been temporarily recommissioned for storage purposes, its now-empty hold perfect for the job, but it requires ferrying the contents of the warehouse to the docks via horse and cart.

“Her view of the fish market is very nice,” Levi continues. “And the smell is only bad when there’s no wind.”

“We have very different definitions of what smells bad.”

 _This warehouse, for example,_ Eren thinks. Levi wasn’t joking when he said the business was a bit of a mess. As the scale of the job became clear, as Eren realised he would be dealing with rotten wood, clogged plumbing, and decades-old dirt, he had tentatively begun searching for longer-term accommodations in Slava. Scratching his head over the steep rents of the busy port town, he assumed he’d cut a pathetic enough figure for Ymir to announce that her sofa was free and Eren should move in.

“It’s not as if you brought much anyway,” she’d said, hands on hips, before leaving to take the first cartload of china down to the docks. “Did you even pack a spare pair of socks?”

It feels like everything is running away from Eren; he’s scared, and he’s excited, and he’s possibly moving to Slava _for good_. He’s getting used to the warm dry evenings and the sound of seagulls, and the diet of fish, salad, and olives. His blacksmith’s hands are losing their coal smudges, gaining a tan instead.

Even this, just spending time with Levi, getting dust all over their trousers and trying not to let their fingers touch. It feels like full steam ahead, as exhilarating the train that brought him here. Maybe, just maybe, Eren can be happy here.

When he’s stopped sneezing with all the dust.

“How _long_ has some of this stuff been in storage?” Eren mutters, wiping his nose and reaching for another box.

“My grandfather probably put that up there,” Levi calls up. “I’ll never make a profit on it, it’s so out of fashion now.”

Eren peers over his shoulder. “Your grandfather who passed away a decade ago?”

Levi’s lips thin. “I would’ve gotten around to it if Kenny didn’t keep causing so much extra paperwork.”

“Mm hm.”

Their progress isn’t helped by the fact that every half an hour or so, Levi demands Eren teach him some new self-defence technique.

Or tries to catch him out.

When Levi next suggests a tea break, Eren rolls his eyes and prepares himself. Sure enough, he’s about three steps from the ladder, still trying to shake the dust from his long hair, when arms wrap around him from behind.

Eren braces.

“Ugh,” Levi grunts, and there is a slight increase of pressure around Eren’s middle.

“What are you trying to do?” Eren asks, bewildered.

Levi lets him go with a disgruntled huff. “Crap. You know Creepy Jim down at the Seadog?”

Eren racks his brain. He’d been introduced to so many grizzled sailors, prostitutes, and goods traders this last week he’d lost track. Levi and Ymir know a lot of people, and Ishmael knows even more. Eren hopes Creepy Jim isn’t one of the dockside hookers, but offers a vague nod anyway.

“So, there’s meant to be some kind of… flip thing.” Levi actually makes a little gesture with his hands, trying to mime it. Eren bites his lip not to smile, because he looks so earnest. “Creepy Jim says he learnt it in Hizuru before the occupation, when martial arts were still practised openly.”

“Okay.”

“So...” Levi waves his hand as if it’s obvious. “Can you teach me something like that? Clearly Creepy Jim is full of shit.”

Eren purses his lips. It’s  _really_ difficult to resist Levi’s expression, his grey eyes daring Eren to refuse, his scar pulled downwards and faint crow’s feet deepened by a determined frown. They are both the kind of people who consider the word ‘no’ to be a challenge rather than an instruction; it took Eren years to realise it, but it’s as plain as day with the Ackerman blood and the titan powers stripped away.

Eren gives up. “Oh, go on then. Turn around.”

Levi turns obediently, straightening his shoulders. His embroidered shirt is covered in dirt, his hair is scruffy with the sweat and grime of a day hefting boxes around the sweltering warehouse, and his ass is – unfortunately – still as nice as it ever was. Especially with the way these loose Slavan trousers hang off him. Thinking back on it, Eren’s first ever erotic dream probably featured that ass.

“And?” Levi prompts.

“Right.” _Concentrate_ . “Well, I don’t know what Creepy Jim showed you, but you’re unlikely to fend off an attacker by approaching _them_ from behind. Unless you plan on sneaking up on people in dark alleyways, you’re better off learning how to topple someone when they sneak up on _you_.”

Levi nods along diligently, his back still to Eren. A cascade of evening light falls from the rafters, specks settling through its amber glow, and he looks beautiful in it.

“Okay, so.” Eren lifts his arms, and wonders where the heck three years of military training and over five years of active combat experience have fucked off to. “I’m going to, uh, attack you.”

“Alright.”

Eren takes a step forward. “Here I come.”

Levi lets out a bark of laughter. It bounces through the wooden clutter of warehouse, and his stance wilts. “You’re ruining the element of surprise a bit, kid,” he says. “I won’t break, you know.”

 _But you’re so breakable now_ , Eren thinks.

“Fine,” Eren says. He wraps an arm around Levi’s sternum, pulling him close. “There. Give me all your money.”

While Levi’s hands fly up to grip Eren’s arm automatically, he makes very little effort to do anything else. In fact, he goes a bit limp. “Oi Eren,” he murmurs.

“Mm?” Eren can feel himself blushing, and considers angling away—

“You’re gullible as fuck, you know,” Levi says.

“Wha— _oof!_ ”

When the world stops spinning, Eren blinks up at the rafters, winded and befuddled.

“Holy shit!” Levi says. “It worked! You just lost me ten gold coin, you idiot.”

“Eh?”

“I really need to see about hiring Creepy Jim. Kenny would love him.”

Eren is still trying to work out how Levi, with no particular muscles to speak of beyond those of a hard working warehouse man, and a week’s worth of self-defence training that mostly involved trying to make Eren blush, just flipped Eren over his shoulder. “You… tricked me,” he surmises.

Levi rolls his eyes. “ _Obviously_.” There’s a faint tinge of red over his cheekbones. His hair is all floppy and askew. He looks so annoyingly pleased with himself it makes Eren want to weep. He’d have given anything to see Captain Levi like this, this carefree man in front of him. Levi’s eyes practically sparkle as he says, “If you shit your pants just now, I’m buying Creepy Jim a drink.”

Eren scowls. “You’re an asshole.”

“Thank you.”

He picks himself up from the floorboards, wincing at the soreness in his back and getting a splinter in his palm for his troubles. As Eren uses his teeth to fish it out, he watches Levi’s gaze track the movements. What are they doing here, exactly? Messing about? Flirting? More? Eren has never had experience with this. There were times, before, when he wondered why Levi singled him out, when things between them were edging towards complicated, but it hadn’t been like this. He’d never noticed Levi looking at him _like that_.

Eren likes it.

“You should be flattered that I bet against myself,” Levi says. “What the fuck was all that talk about military experience?”

Eren brushes his ass off and grumbles. “You took me by surprise.”

“It was _easy_ —”

Two can play at that game, Eren supposes, and makes his move.

It’s a technique Annie first demonstrated on him when they were mere cadets, and it’s been one of his favourites ever since. It has Levi flat on his back before he even has time to utter a startled cry. The sound of flesh slapping against wood is still bouncing around the warehouse when Eren kneels and swipes his hair out of his eyes. “You were saying?”

Levi groans. “I think you just broke my spine.”

“We _really_ shouldn’t be doing this before you’ve built some more muscle,” Eren chides. “And it’ll be a long time before you can kick my ass again.”

“I hardly think I kicked your ass.”

Eren sucks in a breath, realising that he’d been referencing other times, other lives.

He’s not sure what kind of stricken expression crosses his face, but Levi stops smiling. Great. Realising he’s managed to ruin the playful atmosphere, Eren sticks out his hand to help Levi up.

Levi bats it away. “You often get that look on your face,” he says. “Eren, where do you go?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

Eren _does_ know what he means, but it’s Eren’s burden to bear, and there’s no way he’ll destroy Levi’s new life just to lighten it. He opens his mouth, then closes it.

“At least talk to Ymir about it.” Levi props himself up on his elbows. “You’re old friends, right?”

Eren nods.

“Sometimes you just seem so—”

“Talk to me about what?” Ymir asks.

The way they scramble apart is, Eren suspects, pretty comical. Silhouetted in the doorway, hair falling out of its ponytail, Ymir laughs. “Feeling guilty?”

“No,” Levi says quickly. “Spied on, maybe.”

“Hey, you were the ones rolling around on the floor.”

Ymir bustles into the warehouse while they pick themselves up. Eren avoids eye contact, glancing around for the nearest abandoned box of china. His heart is thumping and his throat feels dry. The low earthen light of the warehouse doesn’t help, the ruddy Slavan sunset seeping in to warm and soften every cobwebbed corner. It’s looking emptier now than it did this morning, but they’ve still a way to go.

“I should get on,” Eren offers awkwardly.

“Yep. One more cartload,” Ymir says. “And then I think we’ve all earned an evening at theSeadog.”

“Not tonight.” Levi runs his fingers through his hair. His gaze lands briefly on Eren. “Actually, Ymir, a word in private?”

Eren buries whatever curiosity he feels and gets back to work. It isn’t until he’s halfway down the ladder with the next box of china that he realises the shitty door to Levi’s office hasn’t shut properly and he can hear perfectly well what Levi and Ymir are talking about. He freezes, unintentionally intruding upon something private, yet desperately intrigued.

“That’s the second bad night this month, isn’t it?” Ymir is saying.

“Third,” Levi replies, a soft frown knitting his eyebrows together and pulling down his scar. “I lose track.”

“You need more sleep.”

“If only.”

“Did… did she try to hurt you again?”

“What? _No_ .” Levi is glaring at Ymir. “That was _one_ time.”

Eren feels unpleasant tendrils of worry curl into his gut, taking root there. Who are they talking about? This is not a conversation for him, clearly, but his curiosity and concern for Levi prevent him from carrying on with the warehouse work.

“I know I’ve only been in your life for two years, and you’ve been dealing with this forever, but I’m worried Levi. She’s not well.” Ymir shifts against the door frame, looking awkward. “What if she—”

“She’s my _mother_ , Ymir.”

Ymir’s mouth snaps shut, but Eren’s falls open. Levi’s mother is sick? Neither of them has said a word this last week, not even Ymir, and now Eren knows he _really_ shouldn’t be listening. He forces himself down off the ladder, and takes the box of china outside to the waiting cart.

“Oh ho, _someone’s_ limping, I see.”

“You’re seeing things, Ishmael.”

“Ha! He flipped you, didn’t he? Well I’ll be damned. I _knew_ I should’ve taken that bet.”

Eren rolls his eyes and shunts the box onto the creaking cart, arms aching after a long day’s work. It seems like all they do down at  _The Seadog at Anchor_  is make increasingly outlandish bets with each other.

The sandy cobblestone streets outside the warehouse are soft with the evening sunset, and Ishmael looks soft in it, idly puffing smoke circles on his pipe while their hired mule’s tail flicks at flies. “Maybe I should hire Creepy Jim?” he muses.

Eren edges back towards the warehouse door, the lingering curiosity over Levi and Ymir’s conversation tugging at him.

“Eren, do you think I should hire Creepy Jim?”

Eren pauses. “I, uh, think Levi mentioned something about Kenny—”

“Bah, that old hustler. He gets all the good ones! Favours for family, eh? Not sure why the little Ackerman bothers with him, you know. Still, if I get in first… hey, where are you going in such a rush?”

Eren halts in the doorway with a sigh. The pungent smell of fresh manure wafts into his nostrils,  eerily familiar - he’s spent most of his life around horses - yet somehow sweet and strange under the hot Slavan sun.

“Keen to get back to Levi, eh?” Ishmael waggles his eyebrows.

Eren cringes. “Oh, you know, I just wanted to…”

“Ah, off with you.” Ishmael waves him away. “I can see when I’m coming between two young bucks!”

Eren leaves Ishmael to his tobacco pipe and scampers back indoors, fighting the urge to laugh. He’d hardly call Levi a young buck any more, even if the faint grey at his temples and the laugh lines around his eyes are just about the most attractive things Eren has ever seen. He tries to ignore the discussion in the office, he _does_ , but when Levi says, “Maybe you’re right, maybe it’s time to get someone in again,” Eren cannot help but slow his steps. He would never have known Levi was dealing with something like this. He was being _playful_ today.

Eren grabs another box and idly watches them out of the corner of his eye, the cracked glass window into the office distorting their profiles.

“You admitted that second therapist wasn’t bad,” Ymir says. “Kuchel liked Zoë, right?”

“Ugh.” Levi rubs at his scar. “That fucking four eyes.”

The sound of shattering fine china cracks through the evening calm of the warehouse.

It takes Eren several seconds to comprehend the box of smashed china lying at his feet, shards strewn across the floorboards, the gold-edged pattern in pieces. His ear are ringing; it was a tea set. He’s broken a tea set. _Levi’s tea set_.

“Eren!” Ymir’s voice sounds faint.

“I—no.” Eren sinks to his knees, starts picking up the pieces. “No, no, no.”

“Eren?”

“I’m sorry, I broke—I’ll fix this, I’m sorry.”

“Eren. Sweetheart.” He’s dimly aware of silver-ash tendrils of hair falling into his line of sight, of Ymir’s sand-strewn and salt-crusted trousers as she kneels down. “Eren, you’re going to cut yourself. It’s okay, Levi’s gone to find the broom. What’s wrong?”

Eren shakes his head, focused on collecting all the pieces, because he broke it, _he broke Levi's tea set_.

But Ymir takes hold of his wrists, forcing him to either lash out or go still. “Eren, you’re shaking,” she says. “Just take deep breaths.”

Eren does as he’s told, if only to get his heart to stop racing. His mind settles, though his heart still hurts.

He peers at the splintered fine china in the palms of his hands, at the gold and turquoise design that may once have been kingfishers or bluebirds. “The—” He stops, swallows. “The therapist. You were talking about a therapist.”

“Who, Zoë?”

Eren closes his eyes and nods. It has to be them. “My old commander. Their first name was Zoë. Zoë Hange.” He takes a deep breath. “Levi used to call them four eyes.”

Ymir’s grow wide. “Oh. Ohhh.”

“I’ve heard him say it so many times.”

“I’m sorry, Eren. I’ve never met this therapist. Levi only ever called them Zoë, or four eyes.” Ymir brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Otherwise I would have remembered. Commander Hange was often on your mind. I wonder why they go by Zoë now?”

“Why do they know each other? This world is so big, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“You know, I've been thinking about this and... maybe it’s the wish?” Ymir sits on the ground and helps him to pick up the rest of the pieces, laying them gently back in the box as if she senses the fragility in the air is not just to do with the china. “Maybe whoever made Levi happy in his old life finds him in this one? Like you, like Hange.”

Eren shakes his head. “Erwin isn’t here.” He chews his lip. “And Levi isn’t happy.”

“Why do you keep _saying_ that?” Ymir’s voice takes on a defensive edge.

“His mother… his mother is sick, right? I’m sorry. It was hard not to listen when the door was still open.”

Ymir grimaces. “I keep meaning to fix that. Did you hear _everything?_ ”

“I heard enough. Why didn’t you tell me about Levi’s mother?” he asks, oddly hurt. Ymir is meant to be on his side.

“Not everything is my business to tell, Eren,” she snaps. She shoves the last piece of china in the box. “Besides, it’s painful for me too. I have memories of my own, you know.”

Eren bites down on his response, chastened.

She sighs and gives his hair a gentle ruffle. “I’m sorry, Eren,” she says, tone softer. “Levi will tell you in time.”

Eren lets it go, reminded that he really doesn’t know Ymir any better than he knows this new Levi. “Speaking of Levi, where _is_ he?” Eren asks, knees aching as they get up. He’s spent far too much time on the floor today.

They peer around, but the warehouse is quiet except for the two of them. “Maybe he went to _buy_ a broom?” Ymir offers uncertainly.

Eren prises the box of broken china out of Ymir’s hands. She gives him a quizzical look. “I’m going to fix this,” he tells her.

She cocks her head to one side, considering him. Ymir is sometimes unnervingly like that dreamy version of herself from the Paths, a woman whose spirit sang of ancient woodlands, and who two thousand years ago made not one but two wishes to a devil. Eren fidgets under her gaze and watches the realisation dawn in her eyes, as she remembers the memories that he once showed her. “You don’t need to fix it, Eren. That never happened to this Levi—”

“Ymir,” Eren says firmly. “A person who meant a great deal to me would want me to fix this. He may have no memory of it, but I do. I’m taking it, and I’m fixing it.”

There’s something unfathomably sad in her gaze, but she just nods. “Alright.”

Levi takes that moment to burst through the rickety warehouse door, red faced and harassed. He holds up a large broom in triumph. “I couldn’t find our broom, so I had to run to the Seadog, but—” He stops and looks at the floorboards, picked clean of china shards. “Fucking hell.”

 

The boarding house is quiet and lonely when Eren gets back, earlier than usual, the broken china rattling in its misshapen box. Old Rhince Ackerman’s handwriting crawls spiderweb-thin over the brown packaging, faded beyond recognition. Eren lets himself into his room, and is struck by its emptiness. Just threadbare and scratched furniture, shutters locked against the hot dusky evening, and his journals stacked neatly in the corner. He realises he’s already decided what his answer to Ymir’s offer of accommodation will be.

There are two envelopes on the desk as well, couriered from Liberio, which he hadn’t had time to open that morning.

The first is from the secretary at the courthouse, advising that of course she will let him know if any of the names on his list surfaces, and tentatively enquiring when he plans to come back, because her father has expressed an interest in meeting the nice young man who visits her at the records office. _I’m sorry for misleading you_ , he thinks. _It’s the only way you’d have broken the rules to help me._ Just another person he’s wounded and hurt. Maybe it’s his curse in whatever life he leads.

The second is from Farlan, and this one he lingers over, sending down to the kitchen for refreshments so he can enjoy the comforting familiarity of a friend he made in _this_ life, without any unsettling memories attached.

 

_Dear Eren_

_I knew it, I knew you'd be longer than two weeks! Don’t worry about the workshop. I managed just fine without an apprentice for years, and I never told you this, but you were really only good for shoeing horses anyway._

_I will admit I am concerned that you dashed off and uprooted your whole life just to work for a man who used to employ you in illegal child labour, though I accept there are personal feelings at stake. I have been researching this_ Ackerman’s China _and can find nothing untoward in their current or past employment practices, bar a few ruffians and former criminals, but it_ is _Slava I suppose. I realise you are an adult now, but I am still nearly twenty years older than you –_ “Fifteen,” Eren mutters – _and I would like you to promise me one thing. Promise me you’ll remember there is a place for you here, at_ Church’s Workshop. _You’re a friend, Eren, and you will always be welcome._

_I will ignore the business practices you described to me, since I am morally opposed to profiting off the blockade of Hizuru. I know such things are not so concerning to you as to me. Your old friend the mayor is making good progress in that respect; please find enclosed several articles of interest I have cut out of the broadsheets for you._

_I look forward to hearing back from you, and good luck with fixing up that warehouse. It sounds like you will need it._

_Regards, etc._

_Farlan_

 

Eren folds the letter neatly, and tucks it carefully away beside a sketch he did of Farlan just after he left, the first page of the fresh set of journals he brought with him. It’s a terrible sketch. All of Eren’s sketches are terrible, but this one has a few extra smudges due to Eren’s tears.

Liberio, or more specifically his simple life in Liberio, the clang of blacksmith’s tool and the heat of the forge, the pitter patter of raindrops in the courtyard, reading the newspapers and attempting to sound knowledgeable about politics, the scent of metal filings in Farlan’s hair – it had felt right. For two years, when Eren had needed it most, it had felt like home.

But Slava feels right too, with Levi and Ymir and the wheeling gulls across the bay, the sweltering heat and the spice markets, the tobacco houses and the dockside taverns... the way Ishmael and Levi always end up making jokes about mermaid sex after a few tankards of ale. Spending time with Levi is easy in this world, and it’s getting easier every day. His burden feels lighter. This is home too.

Eren wants to be happy. In choosing to stay, he can feel it just beyond his fingertips, closer than it has been in a long time. So he doesn’t understand why he still feels guilty. He wants to stay, knows he _will_ stay, but cannot quite shake the feeling that he is somehow... betraying the Levi he once knew.

Sighing, he gets the box of broken china and tips it all onto his desk with a clatter. He’d purchased an adhesive paste on his way back up the hill, through the maze of markets, but he’s never had to fix something so intricate before. Delicacy isn’t exactly his strong point.

Nevertheless, it is a beautiful tea set, and his heart needs it to be fixed.

So he picks up a piece, examines the shattered edge of a turquoise-and-gold wing, and gets searching.


	8. Chapter 8

Levi uses his shoulder blade to force open Ymir’s rickety door, arms full of groceries, only to find her chasing Eren around her front room with a pair of scissors.

The three of them have taken the day off to move Eren from the boarding house to Ymir’s place, accompanied by several bottles of honey-wine, a housewarming gift from Ishmael. Clearly it’s starting to have an effect.

They haven’t seen him yet, and he pauses in the doorway, bemused by the sight of Eren’s broad grin.

“No,” Eren says, clutching his hair and wheezing with laughter. “Do you know how many years I’ve been growing this?”

“You look like a mangy dog!” Ymir is in hysterics. “I’m cutting it whether you like it or not!”

_This is going well_ , Levi thinks.

Eren dives behind the second-hand sofa, which is piled high with his clothes and journals.The sofa had been given to Kuchel when Levi was a child, and it always brought him fond memories of sitting on his grandfather’s lap and listening to his stories. Gifting it to Ymir had been a little like giving her a piece of themselves, like welcoming her to their small family. And now it will welcome Eren.

Levi wonders when would be the appropriate time to introduce Eren to his mother. He’s been putting it off because, frankly, she’ll see right through him, and then he’ll never hear the end of, “ _What a handsome boy that Eren is_.”

He wants to though. Wants to sigh and say, _“I know! Look at this gorgeous young man that blushes at me, Ma.”_

There is a clunk and an annoyed curse from behind the sofa.

“You'd better come out." Ymir waves the scissors around in warning. "I swear, you look even worse than your titan, Eren. And don’t think I don't remember _that_ rat’s nest!”

Levi frowns. What?

Eren pops up from behind the sofa. “I look _worse?_ ” He picks up a handful of bedraggled hair. “Too far, Ymir. Too far.”

“What’s a titan?” Levi asks.

They both falter. “Oh, nothing,” Ymir says breezily, scissors now limp at her size. “Just an old joke.”

“Really.” He’s growing a little tired of being deliberately shut out of whatever they have going on. Levi shakes his head in dismissal. Whatever, they can have their secrets. “Fuck,” he groans, plonking down the heavy grocery bags, stretching out sore muscles. “Eren, you are a monster.”

“Arms aching?”

“I feel like they’re about to fall off.”

“Good,” Eren says. “The pain will be worth it.”

Levi had attempted another of Creepy Jim’s ‘legendary’ Hizuru moves yesterday; apparently, they are a one-time-only kind of parlour trick, and Eren had countered so hard Levi about saw stars. “Are you ready to do some proper training now, you stubborn idiot?” Eren had asked. Levi, winded, had said yes. And was set _exercises_ for his trouble.

“Sadist,” Levi now grumbles. “So, what’s this about a haircut?”

“Ugh.” Eren rolls his eyes. “Ask _her_.”

Ymir waves her scissors. “Tell me he doesn’t need a haircut.”

Levi makes a show of considering Eren. In truth, it’s nice to have an excuse to look, and watch Eren fidget and blush under his assessing gaze. What had begun as a distinctly unsettling feeling, the way those sharp green eyes seemed to stare and judge him, is slowly evolving into something far more pleasant, an inexplicable kind of need. _Stare at me_ , Levi thinks. _Judge me._

Yep, his mother will definitely see straight through him.

All Levi says is, “I could give it a trim, if you like.”

The red flush that overtakes Eren’s face is pretty gratifying. It’s not as if Levi is a spring chicken anymore. “R-really?” Eren stammers.

“Sure.”

“Well if I’d known all it would take is _you_ showing up,” Ymir teases.

“Tch. Go open another bottle of the honey-wine already.” Levi snaps his fingers at Eren. “You, come sit down.”

They get set up at the rickety olive wood table, Levi positioning a rust-edged mirror at the correct angle, the one he usually uses when cutting his mother’s hair. “Right,” he says, when he’s done. “Would you like a complete shave or just a partial one?”

Eren’s eyes shoot up to his, reflected in the mirror, wide and alarmed.

“I’m joking.” Levi unties Eren’s hair, resisting the temptation to stroke it. “I’ll take it back to shoulder length, okay?”

“Okay.”

Eren nods automatically, so Levi uses his fingertips to tilt Eren’s head gently forward. “Try not to move,” he murmurs.

Eren doesn’t say anything, but his eyes do flutter shut. Levi is curious to know what his feelings are. Will he even accept an invitation for tea at Levi’s house to meet Kuchel? Or will it just make Levi seem like a pathetic old man? Sometimes Eren is so open; other times he is impenetrable darkness.

Levi glances at the pile of journals on the sofa, and wonders what secrets Eren tells them. “You’re always lugging those journals around,” he remarks.

The unspoken invitation to share hangs in the fish-scented air of the living room, and Eren’s gaze meets his in the rust-spotted glass, before glancing away.

“Yeah,” Eren replies, and leaves it at that.

Levi’s fingertips dance lightly over the back of Eren’s neck, and it’s difficult to ignore the shiver that runs down the young man’s spine at his touch. With every sad gaze, with every unbidden signal of attraction, with every obvious evasion of the truth, Levi finds himself more and more intrigued.

He feels like one of his ships, great wing-like sails catching an expected gust into the path of a storm, steam engine unable to keep up. Should he let down the staysails and continue forth? Or hard to starboard and try to make for clear skies?

Eren raises his head, and his eyes meet Levi’s again in the mirror, lingering on secrets Levi will likely never know.

This time it is Levi who looks away, and returns his focus to the soft falling strands of brown hair.

 

~

 

_The World Before_

 

Eren stares out of the tiny smudged window of the castle basement, at midday skies turning grey with the threat of rain. A year and a half since he was last confined to the basement, yet here he is again. No matter how far he tries to move forwards, he always seems to end up right where he started.

A threat, a wildcard, a thing not to be trusted.

He reaches up and strokes the back of his fingers idly along his upper lip. Smooth and slightly fuzzy, as if playing a joke on him.

Heavy footsteps fall on the stone stairwell, and he turns his head to see Commander Hange arrive, rubbing at their eyepatch, a habit they seem to have picked up these last eighteen months. For long seconds, they stare at each other, Eren soaking in the confusion and disappointment of Hange’s gaze. At length, Eren mumbles, “How is Armin?”

“He’s fine,” Hange replies. “His arm is growing back nicely. He very specifically told me to tell you that he doesn’t blame you.”

It’s difficult to miss the implied ‘but I do’ behind their words.

“Thank the walls Levi thought to room you two together.”

Eren nods. Levi's instincts are always good.

Hange leans against the wall, crossing their arms and looking weirdly reminiscent of Commander Erwin. Weighed down in a way they had never been before Shiganshina. After a moment, they shake their head sadly and say, “Eren, what _happened?_ ”

And this is really the part Eren has been dreading. Because it’s humiliating, and it makes him sound like a child, and as out of control as everyone is beginning to think he is.

 

The next morning, Captain Levi appears with an expression that matches the storm clouds beyond the window and a shaving kit tucked under his arm. “Please tell me,” he says slowly. “That Hange was fucking joking.”

Eren scrunches into himself on the hard bed.

“You mean to say that we’re left without a coastal defence that took six months to build, and Armin is left without a right arm, because _you_ , Eren Jaeger, do not know how to shave.”

“I know how to shave,” Eren grumbles. “Sort of. It’s just… I had one of my…” He waves his hand above his head vaguely, because really, he doesn’t know how to describe these episodes. The intrusion of other minds, other histories, other pasts. “I cut myself, and now we’re here.”

“And now we’re here,” Levi echoes. He rolls his eyes and brandishes the shaving kit at Eren like a weapon. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Eren asks.

Levi shoots him an unimpressed look. “Where do you think, you idiot?”

That is how Eren finds himself perched on a stool in a private — and spotless — bathroom, cheeks and chin slathered in fluffy white foam, Levi carefully scraping a cutthroat blade down the side of his face with precise yet delicate movements.

Eren’s heart is about to explode. And possibly his pants.

“You’re going to have to learn how to do this yourself _eventually_ ,” Levi says in a clipped tone. “But if you’re having a bad day, or a bad week, I’d rather you come to me.”

_Never, I’m never learning to do this myself_ , Eren decides.

“I’m pretty sure the Corps’ budget would rather you come to me too,” Levi continues, then levels a smirk at Eren. “And Arlert’s right arm.”

Eren closes his eyes, flushing. _God this is horrible,_ he thinks. _He’s gonna see it, he’s gonna see your erection._ He fidgets on the stool, wishing he were anywhere else, wishing he could stay here forever.

“Stay _still_ for fuck’s sake,” Levi says, gripping his chin firmly. “No wonder you sliced your damn throat open.”

“I didn’t—”

“Right.”

Eren shuts up, because Levi is not all that far from the truth, insofar as he can remember. The memories crammed up inside his head are getting more and more difficult to sort out, seizing hold of him sometimes with a kind of wretched violence, making his arms tremble and his mouth fill with spit. Until now he’s managed to deal with it mostly privately, locking himself away somewhere until he’s stopped drooling and his spine can unbend.

But that’s not possible any more.

Evidently sensing the turn his thoughts have taken, Levi asks casually, “How often have you been feeling out of sorts, Eren?”

Eren bites his lip. “More and more,” he admits. “It’s like something is building. Inside me.”

Levi’s hand pauses minutely, mid-downstroke. It would have been imperceptible were it not for Eren’s hyper awareness of those fingers brushing against his skin. “Hmm,” he says.

Eren absently rubs at his chest, the sensation of holding too much in almost physical.

“Is that where you feel it?” Levi asks quietly, still grimly focused on the scrape of the cutthroat razor over Eren’s stubble.

“Yeah,” Eren replies. “In my head, too.”

After a pause, rinsing the blade in the foamy sink water, Levi murmurs, “I won’t let anything happen to you, Eren.”

There’s something in the way he says it, a kind of deep conviction, which makes Eren’s throat dry up. They both know it is a stupid vow to make, and Levi is not one for making reckless promises in this cruel world, so the fact that he made it anyway… maybe Eren is just going mad.

He must be, because his response ends up being a whispered, “I won’t let anything happen to you either.”

Levi fumbles the blade. He recovers quickly, but Eren feels it anyway, and chews the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping. Levi’s spotless bathroom, the tin basin and bathtub dented from many years of use, feels suddenly too small. “Shit,” Levi says.

“It’s alright, Captain.”

Levi dabs at the small nick on Eren’s jaw with some tissue. “You’re too damn wiggly,” he mutters.

Eren had been still as a rock, he’s quite sure, but he lets it go. Just knowing that Levi — _Levi —_  can lose his calm over something Eren said is more than enough for one morning.

A thin wisp of healing steam curls between them. “At least you didn’t cut my throat,” Eren says. “So you’re doing _much_ better than me.”

Unexpectedly, Levi snorts. “High praise.”

Feeling weirdly grown up, Eren quips, “Don’t get used to it.”

“Ha!”

Startled, Eren’s gaze flies to Levi, and Eren can tell he is trying not to laugh.

“You’re such an idiot,” Levi mutters, and for one glorious second it feels like his heart is right there, reflected in his deep blue-grey eyes, and it’s beautiful. Then it’s as if a mask falls back in place. Levi’s brows draw close in concentration, and he brandishes the razor. “Now stop fucking _moving_.”

Everything that Eren could say in reply is too much, too close to home, too honest. So he just smiles and tries to will his heart and dick into some semblance of compliance.

If only he and Levi could just stay locked in this tiny clean bathroom forever.

 

~

 

Eren has long carried more memories than he rightfully should. The traumas of his own life, the histories of dead titan shifters, and now these memories, the memories of a hundred small shared moments that mean the world to Eren, and nothing to the man cutting his hair.

It is at its worst when Levi reminds him of something his former self said or did: those are the times when the loss is laid bare, when Eren must confront his grief.

Yet he still likes this man. Cannot help it. Levi is… happier. Open in a way _Captain_ Levi never was. He allows others a part of himself as easily as offering a cup of tea, whereas before it was like drawing blood from a stone.

He’s just a normal man, a man without the weight of the world on his shoulders, and a scar which looks more beautiful to Eren every day. Every time he looks at it, and thinks of the story behind it, he is reminded that in this life, Levi’s pain has not been more than a man should bear.

Levi puts the scissors down and fluffs Eren’s now shoulder-length hair, then carefully draws it back, his fingers caressing the sensitive skin around Eren’s neck as he does so. Eren cannot stop his eyelids from fluttering closed in sheer pleasure. He has to bite down on a _moan_ , for fuck’s sake. “Are you finished yet?” he asks, and he sounds breathless. He can’t take much more of this, Levi’s hands running through his hair, his provocative touches, the deep glances in the mirror. It makes him feel seventeen again.

“Do you want a ribbon?” Levi asks.

“I thought ribbons were something only fancy idiots from Marley or hookers used.” Eren had swiftly cast aside the fashionable hair ties he’d brought from Liberio in favour of simple twists of string when Ymir had explained — through tears of laughter — exactly _why_ Levi had concluded he was a hooker the first time they met. Apparently, the itinerant sailors of the empire were inordinately fond of paying for fantasies involving the wealthy gentlemen and ladies of Liberio. Good coin could be made pretending to be an idle young heir to a shipping company.

Levi offers him a brief smile, and rubs a small circle with his fingertip at Eren’s nape. “Either way, people would imagine themselves undoing it.”

Eren’s mouth opens, but no words seem forthcoming.

“A green one would look good on you. Really… attractive.”

The words linger in the space between them. Levi’s hand hovers near his collarbone, waiting for permission. If Eren leaned into it, Levi would be caressing him, and there’d be no excuse of a haircut between them, and _Levi would be caressing him_. For so much of his life, Levi has been a distant and beautiful eagle, occasionally deigning to glance down at him, but mostly soaring high above Eren’s head.

Now the eagle has pitched up at his side and is _kinda obviously_ attempting to roost. And Eren hasn’t the faintest clue what to do with it. Deep down, he’s still just a kid with a crush.

“Levi, I don’t know if…” He trails off when Levi closes his fist, politely withdrawing. Eren feels so mixed up, images of Levi past and present all merging together yet starkly different, and no matter how much he tells himself the old Levi is dead, _he_ is in the space between them too. “Maybe we should see how Ymir is doing with lunch?” Eren finishes, lamely.

Levi gives him a contemplative look. Then he smiles and pats Eren’s shoulder. “Good point. I’m fucking starving.”

Ymir’s kitchenette is a tiny offshoot of the main room, with windows thrown open onto the fish market, and colourful curtains fluttering in the salty sea breeze that whips through the alleyways in this part of Slava. The scent of fresh-caught fish is pungent, and the hubbub of the market constant. With the three of them crammed in, there really isn’t much room. Eren is excruciatingly aware of Levi’s elbows and head and ass, anywhere he might accidentally bump as they shuffle around each other chopping up tomatoes and buttering fresh-baked bread.

“I put your tea set up on the shelf, Eren.” Ymir points with her knife. “You did a good job!”

Eren stands on his tiptoes to look.

“Wow,” Levi says. “When did you break that? A week ago?”

“Five days,” Eren murmurs.

Some sections had been irrecoverable — the spout of the teapot, a cup handle, half a saucer that must have fallen between the slats in the warehouse floorboards. But the rest had pieced back together remarkably well: the Hizuru river garden design in turquoise and blue, the fine gold highlights, the swooping kingfishers and shimmering koi carp. Some sections are still marred by cracks. Others, nearly perfect.

“When did you find time to _do_ that?” Levi asks. “I need to work you harder.”

Eren shrugs. “It was relaxing.” In truth, his every spare moment had been dedicated to fixing the tea set. He’d _needed_ to. Something about fixing this poor broken china had felt like mending the broken fragments of his soul.

Eren spots something else on the shelf. Three small dolls, handmade, collecting dust. He reaches out to touch one gently, brushing a withered cobweb away. “What are these?” He peers round. “Ymir?”

“Hm?” She stops slicing cheese. “Oh.” Ymir smiles faintly and points to the first one. “Maria.” The next. “Rose.” And the last. “Sina.”

Eren frowns. “The… walls?”

Ymir shakes her head, silvery eyes fathomless. “No, Eren. Not the walls.” There is a deep sadness there. She glances over at Levi’s back. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Don’t mind me,” Levi grumbles, buttering the bread. “I never know what you two are on about half the time anyway.”

Eren looks back to the dolls. They are made with a great deal of care. Delicately knitted, with cotton dresses in different colours to match their hair, and big painted buttons for the eyes. The hair is woven from strands of hand-plaited thread, coloured glass beads dangling at the end; blue for Sina, red for Rose, green for Maria. These dolls are clearly lovingly crafted, and yet they sit up on the top shelf of Ymir’s kitchen, gathering greasy dust and unpleasant cooking aromas.

Ymir lightly suggests they take lunch outside, changing the subject. She has a small wooden balcony with some herbs growing in pots and two creaky deckchairs.

“You two take the chairs,” Levi says, and goes to get the foot stool from inside.

Eren peers over the balustrade to the colourful stalls below. Ymir pours them all a glass of honey-wine — “You know, this was brewed in Paradis!” she informs them, with a private smile for Eren — and they share out the buttered bread, chopped tomatoes, and a strong crumbly cheese from a northern region of Marley that’s famous for it. Eren leans back in his deck chair and nibbles at his makeshift lunch, chasing it down with the honey-wine.

“I’m glad we took the day off,” Ymir murmurs. “This is nice.”

“Except for the fish smell,” Levi points out.

Ymir takes hold of Eren’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “You’ll get used to the fish smell.”

Eren closes his eyes and squeezes back. His mind is still caught on the dolls. Why would Ymir have three small dolls named after the walls? It doesn’t make any sense. The dolls… they are children’s toys.

He cracks open an eyelid and examines the faint crow’s lines at the edge of her eyes, the strands of grey in her ash-blonde hair. She is old enough to have children, even though he first met her as a girl, then as some kind of goddess-like projection of herself in the Paths. But the Ymir that slept for two thousand years because of a wish and woke up in Slava is perhaps in her late thirties, if Eren were to guess.

Maria. Rose. Sina. Girl’s names.

Too aware of Levi perched on the foot stool, sipping his honey-wine, Eren cannot ask the questions he wants to ask.

“I wish I could work you two out,” Levi says, interrupting Eren’s train of thought.

Ymir lets go of Eren’s hand and laughs softly. “Careful, Levi. Wishes don’t always work out as you expect them to.”

“Wishes are a load of old rope anyway.” Levi tosses a hunk of buttered bread to the seagulls on a nearby rooftop. “I wish for fine weather and never-ending riches. I wish the blockade on Hizuru could last forever. I wish a handsome young man would sweep me off my feet! See? Nothing.”

Eren stares.

“How much of that honey-wine did you sneak while we were unpacking?” Ymir asks.

“Tch.”

“Do you really wish the blockade would last?” Eren looks at his lap. “I voted for the guy promising to lift it.”

“Oh, so it’s _your_ fault. And I was nearly rid of Kenny forever!” Levi throws another piece of bread for the gulls and pouts. “I was having such a good time without him.”

Eren glances at Ymir for guidance, and she shakes her head. _“He’s drunk,”_ she mouths.

_Well, if you can’t beat them,_  Eren thinks, and knocks back his honey-wine in one deep swallow, finishing the glass. It’s not exactly like swigging ale. He coughs and splutters at the burn in his throat.

“That’s the spirit!” Levi splashes more of the pale golden drink into their glasses.

Eren stretches out his legs and lets the heat of the sun wash over him. His skin is going darker every day, much to his two pale colleagues’ chagrin.

“So where are you both from?” Levi asks abruptly.

“Uh…”

“The north,” Ymir lies smoothly. “Not far from where this cheese is made, actually. Which, for the record, I wish you’d stop throwing to the seagulls. It wasn’t cheap, and you’re teaching them bad habits.”

“Eren, I hope for your sake your mother’s less of a curmudgeon than Ymir here.”

“She, um, she died.”

Levi turns slightly glassy eyes on him. “Oh.” He scratches at his scar. “I’m sorry.”

Eren shrugs. “It was a long time ago.”

The hubbub from the fish market fills the awkward silence. Then Levi blurts, “You should meet my mother this Sunday!”

Eren blinks.

“I mean… that wasn’t to say…” Levi trails off and plucks a tomato from his plate. Takes a nibble, then stops. “I’ve been meaning to ask, you know, I didn’t mean—”

“You want me to meet your mother?” Eren clarifies, hopeful.

“Yes!” Levi points at him with the tomato. “Thank you. Yes.”

“Alright,” Eren says. He tries to sound mature rather than stupidly overenthusiastic. “I’d like that.”

Levi nods. Continues nodding. “Good.” Goes back to nibbling on his tomato, which is about the same shade as his face now, and Eren cannot quite believe he’s getting to witness it.

He’s been keeping his curiosity about Kuchel’s illness and the family’s connection to Hange under lock and key this last week, trying to respect Levi’s privacy even though he’s _dying_ to know what it’s all about, and more importantly what he can do to help. Mostly, he'd channelled his frustrations into fixing the tea set. But now Levi is inviting him round, and Eren didn’t even have to try very hard! Amazing what a haircut can do.

“Do you think you could draw this view, Eren?” Ymir diplomatically changes the subject.

Eren grimaces, realising he’s been staring at Levi’s red cheeks and making things awkward. “I… can try?”

She gives him a pointed look.

“Oh! You mean now. Ok I’ll, um, go get some paper.” Eren scampers inside, taking the empty plates with him. He looks back to find Levi tossing the tomato out over the marketplace with some venom, and then putting his head in his hands. Ymir leans forward and pats Levi's shoulder in sympathy.

Eren feels giddy; he almost wants to giggle, but he’s an adult, and adults don’t _giggle_.

So he goes in search of paper.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a reference to torture and rape. Nothing graphic.

Locking up the warehouse on Saturday evening, Ymir gives Levi a significant look behind Eren’s back. _“Tell him,”_ she mouths, gesturing dramatically. Levi rolls his eyes in response.

“Are you sure you can’t come for a drink, Ymir? Just one?” Eren asks, fastening the buttons on his loose evening coat. The winds have changed these last few days, necessitating an extra layer in the cool night air.

Ymir reaches up to pat his hair, tied with a neat black ribbon. “I’m sorry, Eren. Kuchel has so much to do for tomorrow, I promised her I’d help.”

“It’s just afternoon tea,” Levi grumbles, already embarrassed by the fuss the pair of them are making.

“And that attitude is why _we_ are making it, and not you,” Ymir replies brightly. “Enjoy yourselves! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Ymir heads off in the direction of the coastal path which leads up to the cliff top neighbourhoods, and Eren turns to him. There is a hint of red across his cheekbones. “I guess it’s just the two of us.”

“And half the Seadog.”

Eren wilts a bit. “And… half the Seadog.”

“Unless—” Levi shoves his hands in the pockets of his wax coat. “Do you want to take a walk? It’s slack water right now, cloudless skies.” He clears his throat. “Sometimes the stars look nice reflected out on the surface of the harbour. We could walk down to the beach, if you—”

“Yes!” Eren also shoves his hands in his pockets, but Levi can see them clenching into tight fists beneath the material. “I mean, yes. Please. That sounds great.”

“Alright.”

They turn towards the docks, weaving through the familiar maze of warehouses and boat yards, but instead of turning towards the _Seadog at Anchor_ as they usually do, they turn right. The light of the dockside taverns filters between the anchored ships, making them look like sleeping giants. The wooden planking of the dock echoes with their footsteps.

“How are you finding life at Ymir’s? I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Good!” Eren says, then winces, and in a quieter tone says, “Good. It’s good.”

He’s clearly nervous, and Levi is both gratified and saddened. He’s just… him. There’s really no reason for Eren to act so ruffled all the time.

“When Ymir and my mother get together it’s… well, you’ll see.” Levi smiles to himself, tucking his chin into the zipped up collar of his wax coat. “Sometimes I think Ma would have preferred a daughter.”

“How so?”

Levi shakes his head. “It’s a bit complicated.”

He’s aware of Eren waiting for him to elaborate, but he’s not sure he’s worked up the courage yet. But if Levi wants Eren to share the deep secrets of his heart - and he’s pretty sure he does - then perhaps he needs to lead by example.

He casts around for a less distressing topic.

“You see that schooner?” Levi points it out, because Eren doesn’t know his whalers from his warships. “I lost my virginity in the hold of that ship.”

Eren makes a strangled noise.

“To a sixteen year old midshipman named Harry Half-Face. Only had one eye, you see, so we bonded,” Levi explains, gesturing to his scar. “Lost his in a pirate attack when he was twelve. Pretty lips, though.”

Eren is still spluttering.

Levi shrugs awkwardly. Great! Now he’s just made them both embarrassed. “In case you were unsure whether I liked men or not,” he mumbles.

“Well.” Eren pauses. “That… definitely clears it up.”

“I think my Uncle Kenny was a bad influence,” Levi admits. “He always said a fuck on the high seas is better than any landlubber sex.” Levi scratches at his scar. “Not sure I can tell much of a difference, if I’m honest.”

“O-oh.”

“Still see Harry sometimes, he’s on the darts team for _The Whaling Siren_. They beat the Seadog last year in the cup.” Levi grimaces. “Assholes.”

Eren is giving him a bewildered look.

Levi feels his cheeks heating up. Trying to get this lovely young man to open up is _hard work_. “So how about you?” he ventures. “Any wild exploits?”

“Um.” Eren nibbles on his bottom lip, and Levi idly wonders how he’d react if Levi offered to do it for him. “Not really.”

“Hang on, weren’t you some kind of child soldier? You’re not telling me you didn’t get up to no good in the military when you were fifteen.”

Eren shakes his head. “Well, I guess, there was this one guy.” He glances at Levi. “He was older.”

“Oh?” Levi smiles. “So you like older men? I’m intrigued.”

Eren pokes him in the side. “You’re _nosy_.”

“That too.” Chuckling, Levi holds the gate at the end of the docks open for Eren to slip through. “Go on,” he says, pleased by the playfulness. “Spill.”

But Eren’s attention is elsewhere. He has paused on the steps leading down to the beach, mouth hanging open. “Oh. Wow!”

Slava is not exactly known for its natural beauty, but its secluded sandy shores are lovely. The sea is a mill pond tonight, a flat calm of crystal clear water.. Stepping down from the long wooden docks, the still surface of the harbour makes for an uninterrupted mirror for the stars. The gentlest of waves lap at the shore, and the noise of the taverns grows distant.

“This is beautiful,” Eren says, sounding impressed.

“Mm,” Levi agrees, contemplating Eren’s silhouette in the moonlight. “It’s not bad.”

Eren gives him a faint smile.

They walk down the beach, boots crunching in the slightly rocky sand, until they reach a point where the saltwater wash meets their feet.

Levi nudges Eren with his shoulder. “So go on then. Tell me about this _older_ man.” He can’t help but be interested. Eren has been intriguing from the moment he — literally — pitched up on Levi’s doorstep, sweating, bumbling, and gorgeous. “Was he a soldier too?”

“It’s—” Eren gives him a wry glance “—complicated.”

Levi smirks. “Of course it is.”

“I wish… damn it.” Eren sighs, sounding frustrated. “I wish I could tell you.” A strange look crosses his face. Fleeting, but confusing. His brows wrinkle in consternation, his eyes turn inwards.

 _Where did you just go?_ Levi thinks. Whatever this huge secret is between Eren and Ymir, this thing that troubles them, he wants to _help_. He wants to know Eren, and Eren to know him in turn.

Standing relaxed beside Levi, in his elegant evening coat and his hair shining a deep chestnut, Eren still looks like a fancy city boy, even if his skin is growing dark with the Slavan sun, his lips dry with the heat. He looks gorgeous and, if Levi is honest with himself, worryingly untouchable.

“Sometimes she doesn’t recognise me,” Levi blurts.

“Huh?”

Levi crosses his arms, annoyed with himself. So much for having a light conversation. “My mother,” he explains. “Sometimes she doesn’t know who I am. Figured I should tell you. Just in case she has a funny turn tomorrow.”

“She doesn’t… _recognise_ you?”

Levi shrugs. “We’re getting help for her, some crazy therapist she likes for some reason. But, yeah. Sometimes it’s… she thinks I’m a whole different person. She’s always been like that, no one really knows what it’s all about.”

Eren nods, strangely solemn. “I’ll remember.” He bites his lip, and _oh god_ , would he quit being so unintentionally alluring. “I’m sure she’s lovely, Levi.”

“What?”

“Your mother.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Levi rubs his hands together and looks out at the harbour, the twinkling array of stars reflected in the between-tide waters. Soon the tide will turn, and this fleeting beauty will disappear. “She’ll like you. You look sweet.”

“What about Harry Half-Face?” A smirk twitches at Eren’s lips. “He sounded like a real catch.”

“Oi.” Levi chuckles, then sits down on the dry sand. “Ah, to hell with it.”

Eren stares at him curiously, eyes mesmerising in the darkness.

Levi puts his chin in his palm and peers up, caught in the deep green. Eren really is stunning in the starlight. His heart flutters a little as he says, “I don’t suppose you’d let me court you?”

The effect on Eren is pretty gratifying. His lips part, he gasps, his whole body goes ramrod straight. _It’s not just the looks,_ Levi reminds himself. He likes Eren’s patience with Ymir, the way he’ll sometimes tease and laugh, the faint air of mystery. But the looks don’t hurt, and Levi is bored of trying to be subtle.

Eventually, Eren sits himself down in the sand beside Levi, looking winded.

“Still alive in there?” Levi asks, amused and trying not to sound too impatient for an answer.

“I think so.” He pauses. “If only you knew—I can’t believe you just _said_ that.”

“Pretty thing like you wandering around this part of Slava? Figured I’d stake my claim before someone else does.”

“That’s… actually kind of charming.”

“I learned from the best,” Levi says.

“ _Please_ tell me you’re not talking about your uncle.”

Levi grins. “There are very few skirts around here that haven’t been lifted by Kenny Ackerman at one point or another.”

“Oh god.” Eren flops back in the sand and puts his arm over his eyes. “I did not need to know that,” he mutters.

“So what do you think?” Levi asks.

Eren cracks one eye open and gives him a once over. The starlight is just enough to illuminate their shadows, to make the whites of their eyes shine, but not much more. For all his bravado, Levi is fighting the temptation to scrunch his fists in the sand with nerves. It’s not like he goes around asking to court any old person.

Eren’s answer takes a while to come. Different emotions flicker over his features: frustration, pleasure, confusion. Levi reaches out and smooths his thumb over Eren’s forehead, willing away the frown lines. “You should stop thinking so much,” Levi murmurs. “It’s just me.”

Eren’s gaze trails along his face, lingering on his eyes, his lips, his scar.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“We can take it slowly,” Levi offers. “No rolling around in a ship’s hold anytime soon. Too many rats, for starters. But I’d like to get to know you better.” _Find out some of those secrets._

“Alright.” Eren takes a deep breath. “Fuck it, why not. You can court me.”

“Yeah?” Levi brushes his thumb over Eren’s temple.

Eren’s eyes flutter closed. “Yeah,” he whispers.

 _Would now be a good time for a kiss?_ Levi wonders. He decides, _yes_ , and begins to lean down. Eren seems to decide otherwise, and sits up. Levi politely lets his hand drop.

“So.” Eren clears his throat and plucks at the rocks in the sand. “What exactly do courting people _do_ in Slava? I’m assuming it’s not open top carriage rides around the park and first dances at the ball.”

“Is that what you did in Liberio?”

Eren laughs. “No. If only blacksmithing paid that much. But I delivered ceremonial swords to the sort of people who _did_ do that.”

“Hm.” Levi taps his chin. “I guess we could go to the Seadog?” He has a vision of walking in, his palm in the small of Eren’s back, and finally those idiots would stop looking at Eren like fresh meat. Ishmael would give him that proud smile, the bartender would offer a drink on the house, and a hundred small bets would be collected while Eren is oblivious, cheeks growing flush and pretty with ale.

Eren’s response is a smile – a small, private smile that Levi doesn’t quite understand, but likes anyway. “The Seadog,” he whispers. “Sounds perfect.”

 

On Saturday morning, Ymir shows Eren how to navigate the rocky coastal path to Levi’s house. It is exposed to the high winds rolling in off the ocean, and Eren tries in vain to protect the glorious bouquet of Paradisian cornflowers he’d bought for Kuchel. He wants to make a good impression, _especially_ after last night. He'd actually pinched his own arm that morning, almost convincing himself Levi asking to court him had been some simple, pleasant dream. 

“This fucking wind,” Eren mutters, another deep blue petal flying off into the distance.

“My Sina would have loved those flowers.” Ymir gives him a smile. “You’re doing very well.”

Eren’s ears prick at the mention of the mysterious Sina. He glances at Ymir, hopeful.

She gives him a nod. “Let’s catch our breath a bit,” she suggests.

Eren huddles against a rock, trying to protect the flowers.

“It’s funny, you know, how history works,” Ymir says, staring out over the cliffs. “The simplest things become legend, and the most important things are lost in time.”

Eren thinks back to the dolls. He’s been thinking of them all week, waiting for Ymir to be ready to talk about them. “They were… your daughters?” Eren voices the tentative conclusion he’s formed.

Ymir takes a deep breath of sea air. “Once, yes. It feels a long time ago now. It _was_ a long time ago. Two thousand years.”

“What happened?”

“Marley.”

Eren cocks his head to one side, confused.

Ymir glances at him. “They didn’t always have an empire, as you well know.” She pauses. “Two thousand years ago, I was Eldian. We were a tribal people of the northern forests, and the Marley were our enemies. There were no such things as empires back then. And I had three beautiful daughters. Sina. Rose. And—”

“Maria,” Eren finishes.

“And Maria.” Ymir pauses. “There was a raid. They were kidnapped, along with other young girls from our village.”

With a sick feeling, Eren knows what is coming. He feels embers of the old fire, of a hot youthful fury railing against injustice, echoes of an intense flame that once drove him.

“By the time we broke through their defences, they had been raped, tortured, and killed.” Ymir stares out at the vast horizon, at the distant sails of trading ships. “And so I followed a legend. A rumour. A myth. To find the devil of the forest, and make a wish. But you see, the wish I _wanted_ to make, the wish my heart yearned to make, I couldn’t. Because when I was a child, a young man came to me like a spectre of the future, and he asked me not to make that wish. He showed me what would happen if I wished for vengeance.”

Eren stares at Ymir. His actions had denied this woman her justice. There is a part of him, a small coiled spring of rage at his core, that wants to undo it all.

“And I had never forgotten that young man. It was on the tip of my tongue, I so very nearly wished the titans into being again. I would have given anything to crush the Marleyans as they had crushed me. But I would have been destroying that young man’s future.”

“So you wished for something else instead,” Eren concludes, feeling heartbroken.

Ymir nods. “I wished for something else. I took my pain, and I tried to wish for something _good_. And maybe the devil took pity on me, I don’t know, but it was not long after that I lay down in the hollow of an old tree and slept. A healing sleep. I woke up here to find my greatest enemies had taken over the world, but I was no longer filled with rage. So I waited for you.”

“And you made your dolls?”

Ymir smiles sadly. “We do what we can to put ourselves back together.”

Eren thinks of the broken tea set, and the way Levi’s thumb caressed his face last night. “Yes,” he says. “We do.”

The neighbourhood where Levi and his mother live is quiet compared to the town around the fort. Small whitewashed cottages with terracotta roofs, laundry hanging on lines strung between gardens, old women herding chickens around the dirt-packed cul-de-sacs. It is one of several sprawling out along the cliff tops and hidden coves of Slava’s rocky coast.

“These neighbourhoods used to be small fishing villages,” Ymir tells him. “Long ago when the fort still stood. Now they’re all just a part of Slava.”

Levi’s house is one among many, a neat cottage with green shutters, yellow curtains, and a small orange tree growing in the front garden. Eren is nervous, but that old familiar determination is starting to kick in. He takes a moment to do a final re-adjustment of the Paradisian cornflowers.

Ymir takes them round the back, to a small garden fragrant with terracotta pots of herbs and a trelliswork full of grapevines. Butterflies and bees flit from bloom to bloom, and the clinking of cutlery and sound of laughter can be heard through a window thrown open to the midday sunshine.

“We’re here!” Ymir calls.

A deep feminine voice says, “No, no. Go set the table, you can say hello after,” and then Eren gets his first look at Kuchel Ackerman as she steps into the garden.

She is an extraordinarily good looking woman. What on Levi are slightly odd features, somehow look stunning on his mother. Short and petite, with a head of dark hair showing only wisps of grey, she offers her cheek to Ymir to kiss while untying her apron.

Eren hovers, resisting the urge to fidget.

“Ah,” Kuchel says, eyes warm. “And this must be the young man I feel I know already.”

Eren swallows, surprised and warmed by the idea of Levi talking about him to Kuchel. He holds out the cornflowers to cover his reaction, determined to make a good, sensible impression.

“How lovely. Ymir, would you be a dear? I’d like to have a word or two with Eren, before we eat.”

“Of course!” Ymir takes the cornflowers, giving him a reassuring smile, and then Eren finds himself left alone with Kuchel, and only the lethargic afternoon buzzing of the honey bees for company.

She gestures to a bench, and they sit side by side. Eren prepares himself to be interrogated, surreptitiously trying to straighten his embroidered shirt. Compared to the tapestry of red and cream that Kuchel is wearing – a lace-trim skirt and a bell-sleeve top with embroidered vines of twining roses – he feels almost dowdy.

But instead of getting a talk about treating Levi right, Kuchel surprises him.

“Has Levi told you much of my father, Eren?” she asks, voice deeper than expected.

“No, ma’am.” The only thing he knows about Rhince Ackerman is that he left _Ackerman’s China_ to Levi instead of his own son. Eren’s not sure what to think of that decision; he had been fired up enough to march all the way to Slava with half an intention of throwing Kenny off the nearest cliff, but now it seems more as if Kenny and Levi are simply arguing on principle than any real attachment to the china import business.

“He was an odd man, powerful in his own way I suppose. Built the business up from scratch. He was determined that our family should be more than just paupers, you see.” Kuchel gives him a surprisingly critical look. “When I got pregnant with Levi, he chased off my beau. A slovenly navy boy looking for a way out of his duties would _never_ be good enough for his daughter.”

Eren blinks. Maybe he was too hasty in hoping not to get a stern talking to.

Kuchel leans forward. “We had such an argument. But now I think I understand better where he was coming from.”

Eren flushes in mortification. “You—”

“I cannot work out yet whether you are going to bring my son happiness or incredible pain, Eren Jaeger. He’s hopeless over you.”

“I would _never—_ ” Eren begins, gripping the bench.

“Nobody ever would, Eren.” Kuchel puts some space between them. “But then you turn your head, and then next thing you know, he’s cut his face wide open, and the only doctor you can afford leaves him scarred for life.”

“I—” Eren stops, forces himself to breathe a little. “I… care very deeply about Levi, ma’am.”

“I can see that. Unlike his mother, he’s not idiot enough to fall for someone who doesn’t.”

“What do you want from me?” Eren mutters.

Suddenly Kuchel is placing her palm over his hand, squeezing it. “When you hurt him, please try to make it better.”

Eren looks down, horrified. “I won’t—”

“Of course you will. He’s been in there learning how to make fruit dumplings all morning because apparently you liked the one Ishmael gave you last week. Picked the gooseberries himself at dawn. You’re going to break his heart.” Kuchel raises an eyebrow, looking almost amused. “They’re terrible, by the way. I hope you’re not after him for his cooking skills.”

“I…” Eren loses track of what he meant to say, struck with a sudden rush of pleasure at the idea of Levi cooking for him.

“Oh.” Kuchel leans forward again. “Now _that’s_ the expression I wanted to see.”

Eren, at this stage, is completely baffled. Kuchel is not what he expected at all.

“You’ve had a lot of pain in your life, haven’t you, Eren,” she says. “I can see that. Levi has had pain too, at times I have been the cause of it, but—” she frowns “—I do not think it is the same kind of pain. My mind is,” she waves her hand around her long softly curled hair “not quite right, you see.”

“He told me.”

“Doesn’t want me embarrassing him, I expect.”

“It wouldn’t—”

“Sometimes, I think this world isn’t real.”

Eren sucks in a harsh breath. When Levi told him of Kuchel’s affliction, he had considered, briefly, the irony of it, but had put it down to the signs of old age. He should not have been so naïve.

Kuchel shakes her head. “Well, enough of that. I’m sorry to spoil our nice afternoon with all this melodrama, Eren."

Tentatively, Eren places his other hand on top of Kuchel’s. “I _promise_ I will look after Levi.”

“You’re so very young.”

“I’m older than you think.”

Kuchel examines him for a moment, and he feel exposed under her sharp gaze. “I don’t know who you are Eren. I don’t even know who Ymir is. Both of you show up in my son’s life, with these mysterious pasts, and suddenly it’s as if this thing I have feared is one step closer. I’m scared that this world will collapse and hurt my son. With you here, it feels less like a waking nightmare, and more like a sleeping threat.”

Eren has no words for that. Is this the wish? A wish to the devil should never be trusted, but he understands a little better now why Ymir made it. It’s not as if Eren is immune to cracking with his anger at the world.

“But...my son is in there ruining the family fruit dumpling recipe as we speak.” Kuchel sighs deeply. “So I suppose I have little choice but to hope for the best.”

“I am _not_ ruining it.”

Eren jumps, startled to see Levi standing in the open kitchen archway, wiping flour off his arms with a cloth. Eren gently removes his hands from Kuchel’s, fighting down a blush.

“Are you done trying to scare him off, Ma?” Levi gives him a once over. “You’d better not have broken him.”

“As if I would.” Kuchel gives Eren a nudge. “Go on. He’s been dying to see you.”

Hearing Levi’s own mother say such things is a bit too much. Eren pads over to Levi, feeling inexplicably shy, despite last night. “Hey,” he says quietly.

Levi stands on tiptoes to peer over Eren’s shoulder, scowls, then gestures them inside.

Eren gets a face full of dried herbs when he walks in.

“Duck,” Levi says.

“Yeah, thanks.” Eren wipes lavender pollen off his nose.

Levi steps close, and suddenly Eren is backed against the counter, finding it difficult to breathe. They are just shy of touching, scant inches between their chests. Coherent thoughts scattering to the wind, Eren can see Levi has a smudge of jam on his cheek. He kind of wants to lick it off.

“Was it terrible?” Levi asks, searching Eren’s eyes.

“Huh?”

“Did she threaten to chop you up and have Kenny throw you to the sharks?”

“…No?”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Levi puts his palm on Eren’s chest, just like that, like it’s not bridging a gap that Eren has struggled to cross for the best part of a decade. His fingers flex over Eren’s pectoral muscles. “She’s a little overprotective.”

Eren tries to think. He really does. “She’s… nice.”

“Mm,” Levi says. “So, do you want to try a fruit dumpling? Don’t listen to my mother, I’m a great cook.”

“Are you _trying_ to distract me?” Eren asks, stifling a groan as Levi’s thumb works between the buttons of his shirt, grazing bare skin.

“Is it working?”

“Yes.”

Levi grins, and his gaze slips down to Eren’s lips. “Consider it payback.”

“For _what?_ ”

“All that exercise you’re making me do.” Levi moves subtly closer. “Do you want one? I like watching you eat.”

Eren closes his eyes, and orders himself not to get too turned on in Levi’s mother’s house. Fortunately, his teenage years of lusting inappropriately after Levi have stood him in good stead. He swallows hard and thinks of titan crotches. “Alright.”

Levi reaches around him and plucks a pale dumpling off an earthenware platter. It is dusted with sugar, and kind of lumpy. “Here,” he says, holding it out expectantly. He sounds a little breathless.

There are times, Eren thinks, when Levi is so similar to his old self, it is impossible to tell them apart. And other times, like this one, when they are different people entirely. He tries to imagine the Captain of the Survey Corps pinning him against a counter and finger-feeding him, and draws a complete blank.

It’s nice. To enjoy Levi without some memory intruding for a change.

Eren leans forward and nibbles the dumpling, tasting sugar and thick flour and—

_What the fuck?_

He puts his hand over his mouth and tries not to gag. “Mmm.”

Levi’s face falls. “That bad, huh?”

Eren cringes. Chokes the stodgy dumpling down, sour gooseberry filling and all. “No, no,” he says, between coughs. “It’s lovely.”

“Really?” Levi sounds skeptical.

_When you hurt him, please try to make it better._

_This burden will ever be yours to carry, Eren._

Eren wonders what his own mother would advise, if she were here. He misses her. But he only has himself, and let it never be said Eren Jaeger doesn’t rise to a challenge.

“Really! They’re delicious.” He plucks the rest of the dumpling from Levi’s fingers and pops it in his mouth.

The hopeful look on Levi’s face is worth all the suffering in the world.


End file.
